Anam Cara
by Gem4
Summary: It's time for Hank to learn the truth about Angel, but Hank has a secret of his own.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer:  Characters?  Nope, not mine.  They, and the town of Sunnydale, are creations of Joss Whedon.  I'd tell you who owns them, but I have no desire to fight my way through the tangle of parent and dummy corporations to figure it out definitively.  Suffice it to say; it's not me, which is good, because I'm not making a dime off of them.

Rating:  We'll say the usual PG13

Spoilers:  Splits off from Buffyverse at "The Initiative" (Yup, a long, long time ago).  This is my version of Season 4 – the way it should have been (IMHO).

Author's Note:  Fourth and final part of "The Road Home" series.  Literally interpreted, the title is Gaelic for "soul friend."  On a deeper level, it is said to be an ancient, seldom traveled path, to the meaning of what it is to be human.  

**Anam Cara**

By Gem

"Okay, let's check your bag one last time. Ten pounds of boring books no one but you and Giles will ever read?"

"Check."  The response was milder than it should have been after the last half-hour of this type of questioning, but Angel knew that deep down she meant well.

"Uncharged cell phone so you can ignore my calls while pretending you actually meant to answer it if it rang?"

Make that: really deep down.

"It's charged, and even turned on."  He pulled the phone from his duffel bag with a sigh, and waved it at her as proof before returning it to one of the outer pockets.

"Industrial strength styling gel for that long windy drive?"  Cordelia crossed her arms and leaned against the doorjamb, grinning when Angel's free hand automatically rose to check his carefully spiked locks.

"People in glass salons shouldn't throw stones."   He forced his hand back down and resumed packing.  It had been a long time since he'd had a little sister, but he still remembered how the game was played.  Never let them see you sweat.

"Seriously out of season, yet always in style, leather coat?"

That one hit struck a nerve.

"No cracks about the coat, Cordelia.  Where I go, it goes."

"Swords, axes and assorted hunting knives?"

Angel stopped tossing books into the duffel bag and stared blankly at her.  "Cordy, I'll only be there a few hours.  I'll drop off the books, swing by Buffy's mother's house so Buffy can toss whatever didn't fit in her car into mine and then we'll be off.  The most violence I have to worry about is road kill, and I think the convertible is weapon enough for that."

"Yeah, uh huh, sure."  To say she was skeptical would be putting it mildly.  "Ever heard of a little club called the Initiative?  They were short on brains, but long on weapons, and rumor has it they don't like the fanged and furrowed brow crowd, even those with souls.  Vampires with souls, that is; I'm not sure the frat boy commandos ever had souls themselves."

"There aren't that many of them left," Angel replied quietly.  "Most of the ones who survived the battle with the Scourge went home.  Spike's sources say the lab has been dismantled.  They're not a danger to me or anyone else anymore."

"As long as there's one left who knows about you, you're in danger," she snapped.  "And we both know who the biggest big mouth of all is.  He couldn't fight; remember?  He was sidelined when Buffy played Slayer Soccer on his face."

"Classes are over for the year.  He went home to Iowa, and I don't think he's coming back."

"Good," Cordelia said sharply.  "Two points for the guys in the white hats, or in this case, the black coats.  But aren't you forgetting someone else, Angel?  Blonde lady, not big on vampires, old enough to be your girlfriend's mother."  Cordelia raised her hand to her cheek in mock astonishment.  "Wait, no, she is your girlfriend's mother.  Do you honestly think Joyce will let you drive off with Buffy without at least one good knockdown drag-out fight?"

He raised an eyebrow.  "Oh, so the weapons are really supposed to be for her?  Gee, that should help our relationship a lot."

Cordelia shrugged. "They couldn't hurt."  

"I don't know that Joyce will even be there," he admitted, returning to his packing.  "Buffy arranged this for a night when there's an opening scheduled at the gallery.  She hasn't spoken to her mother in months, and she didn't think this would be a good time to start."

"Whoa."  Cordelia sank down on the bed, genuinely stunned.  She looked up at Angel with deep concern.  "I knew she was mad at her mom for sending her dad in as the cavalry a few months ago, but she really stopped talking to her?  As in totally?"

Angel nodded miserably. 

"At first she was too angry, and she was afraid she'd say something she might regret later.  Then, the longer she put it off and the more time passed, the harder it became for her to make the first move."

The last book to sail into his duffel bag flew with a trifle more force than was necessary, or advisable.  He snatched the ancient volume from the mouth of the bag and cradled it gently in his big hands.

"I can't help but feel it's my fault," he confided.

"Of course you do."  Cordelia's smile was wry, but affectionate.  "You think everything is your fault.  I mean, you're getting better about the brood thing, but you still take the cake for taking the rap."

Force of habit silenced the voice in his head that said she could be right, and let his overactive conscience take the lead.  "This time I'm right.  Buffy isn't fighting with her mother so much as she's fighting for me.  She's defending me, and she shouldn't have to."

"Well, hello Mr. Center-of-the-Universe."  Cordelia stood up and put her hands on her hips, trying to imitate what little she remembered of Willow's mother.  Her own mother certainly would be of no help as a role model.  "Did you ever think Buffy might be fighting with her mom because her mom wants her to stay a kid and Buffy's acting like too much of an adult for her?  It's been know to happen between mothers and daughters, you know.  Or didn't they have parental issues in the dark ages when you were growing up?"

Angel cast her a dark look.  "Oh there were issues all right.  A regular horn of plenty of them."  

Cordelia's words triggered a wash of memories in Angel, however, lending credence to her argument.  Parents were parents, no matter the century, and it didn't take a vampire to stir things up between the generations.

"Well, since you drained your family like a six-pack on a Saturday night, I kind of thought the issues were on their side." She shrugged; the past, especially someone else's past, held little interest for her.  "But hey, that means you should know this isn't so abnormal.  Okay, so the vampire and slayer part is a little on the ab side, but not the mommy from hell."

"I need to make my peace with Joyce," he insisted, clinging to that much responsibility at least.  "I want a clean slate when Buffy comes back here.  New school, new house, new life."  He glanced around the apartment, now nearly empty of furnishings, save the bed and one small wardrobe/weapons closet.  "It's funny; I never thought I'd miss this place, but somehow I already do."

Cordelia ran her hand across the door of the wardrobe.  "Yeah, all this lack of light and cheer really grows on you after a while.  I feel so bad you're giving it all up to live in that converted Spanish mission, with tons of indirect light, and a rose garden and a hot tub."  She grimaced at him.  "You poor thing."

"Let's just be grateful it's on the edge of the sewers, so I can still get to work in the afternoon."  He was smiling again as he zipped up his duffel bag.  "It is a great place, you're right.  A little bigger than we wanted, but I need to know I won't be keeping Buffy from things like sunlight and flowers."

"She never struck me as the gardening type," Cordelia said doubtfully, "but you know her better than I do.  And I know she can't wait to move in.  Of course, it could have something to do with the company," she teased.

"It's been a very long two months since we first started planning this," he agreed.  "Actually a year since we were together on a daily basis."  He cocked his head and started to think back.  "No, now that I think about it…"

"Enough, Romeo!"  Cordelia held up her hand to silence him.  "Go!  Get your woman and bring her back to your beautiful new home and permanently retire the dark and scary look."  She paused for a moment, considering the future.  "Unless we're working," she clarified.

"Speaking of work," Angel said slowly, "have you seen Doyle lately?  I wanted to go over a few things with him in case something breaks tonight."  

In truth, Angel's caseload had been light the past week, and the only thing in danger of breaking during his absence was his Waterford crystal vase over Doyle's head if Cordelia got mad.  It sounded like a reasonable excuse, though, and he was too worried about his friend to waste a lot of time composing a better one.

Cordelia blushed and turned away to face the window.  "Well yeah, I've seen him.  I mean we do work in the same office, and it's not that big.  If two people are in there at the same time you pretty much can't help but see each other."

"And if one of them hasn't been coming into the office much lately, would those two people still not be able to help seeing each other?"

Cordelia whirled around to face him, prepared for to defend herself.  But in his eyes she saw only gentle affection, and her guard fell as swiftly as it had been raised.

"Maybe not," she admitted softly.  

"I don't want to pry.  I just want to know if he's okay.  He's been...different, ever since he came back from Santa Marisa."  Angel's dark eyes searched Cordelia's face for some sign to guide him.  "He said he didn't run into the Scourge at all there, but he acts like a man who's been in battle."

"I know.  He won't talk about what happened, though.  I ask, but he says everything is fine and that it's all going according to plan, whatever that means."  She looked at Angel with troubled eyes.  "Sometimes, when he says that, I get a really bad feeling.  Like something big is about to change, and there's nothing even a vampire or a vampire slayer can do to stop it."

"When I come back I'll make him sit down until he talks to me," Angel promised.  "I've been told I can be very persuasive, even without the chainsaw." 

"What happened to 'I don't want to pry'?"  

"That was when I thought you'd tell me what it was."   He finished settling the last book in his bag and zipped it, but he couldn't bring himself to pick it up.  A frown crossed his face as he played with the strap.  "I don't want to lose him, Cordelia.  He feels like he's slipping away or something.  We've all come too far together to lose each other now."

"Angel," Cordelia sighed, "just go.  Get Buffy and bring her home.  Let me deal with Doyle right now."

His restless fingers quieted as he took a firm grip on the strap, but still he wavered about leaving.  "Promise me you'll call if you need me."

"In the next five hours?"  She cocked an eyebrow at him.  "Sure, no problem."

"Don't say it like it's never happened before," he warned her, finally lifting his bag over his shoulder.  "We may not have a hellmouth in LA, but I think the one in Sunnydale commutes."

* * * * *

The two-hour drive to Sunnydale gave Angel plenty of time to consider Doyle's recent strange behavior, and his thoughts gave him no cause for joy.  

'Distant' was the best way to describe his friend's behavior since his return from Santa Marisa, Angel decided.  Distant, and quiet, and evasive.  Even when Doyle was physically present, which wasn't often these days, he seemed to be distracted.  If someone called him on his inattentiveness, the Irishman would make a visible effort to reconnect with his companions.  But the man who once told Angel to reach out to humanity seemed to prefer the company of his own thoughts above any other these days.

Cordelia summed it up best, if rather embarrassingly for Angel, when she said it was almost like Doyle had come down with a mutant strain of "Buffy-Face."

The vampire brooded on Doyle's problems, whatever they might be, with his characteristic intensity until he realized he had reached the freeway exit for Sunnydale.  Deep though his concern for his friend ran, it could not compete with the thought that each succeeding mile was bringing him that much closer to his beloved.  By the time he turned on to Revello Drive he was as impatient for the journey's end as a schoolboy waiting for the bell to ring.  This street, this town, was foreign to him in many ways, but at the moment one of these houses sheltered the only real home he had ever known.

The headlights of his car picked out an old-fashioned car in the driveway, next to Buffy's crookedly parked VW Bug.  If he had been at work the sight of the strange vehicle would have aroused his curiosity, and even suspicion, but tonight he was allowed scarcely enough time to even register its presence.  As soon as he pulled up in front of the house, Buffy was out the front door, down the porch steps and across the lawn to meet him.

"Out, out!" she demanded, tugging impatiently at his arm as he tried to open the door of the convertible.  He laughed and slid out of the car as quickly as possible, not even getting the time to close the door before she was in his arms.

"Two weeks," she growled, pulling his head down for a kiss.  

"Too long," he murmured in agreement, before their lips met and all rational thought fled.

Angel could feel his tension dissolve at the feel of her small, strong hands on the nape of his neck, her lips so warm and soft against his own.  This was where he belonged, where she belonged, intertwined in body and soul.  Together they stood strong against all those who sought to take this hard-won happiness from them for whatever reason.

Eventually they had to break the kiss, in deference to both Buffy's air supply and Joyce's neighbors.  Angel lifted his head, but he did not release his beloved, who seemed all too comfortable encircled by his arms.

"I missed you," Buffy said unnecessarily.

"I gathered that."  He laughed again and shook his head.  "You're just lucky I don't need to breathe, because you certainly would have taken it all away with that hello.  Not that I'm objecting," he added hastily, "but what was up with that?"

She smiled coyly at him as she reached up to brush a trace of lip gloss off his lower lip.  The light from the newly risen moon reflected the silver of her claddagh ring, sending a sharp, wordless stab of joy into Angel's heart.

"Can't a girl just be happy to see her boyfriend after two long lonely weeks without him?"  

"Buffy, you weren't that happy to see me after six months apart."

She shrugged slightly and stepped out of his embrace, automatically setting off Angel's warning flags.

"Hey, the last two weeks have been tough on me too," he assured her.  "I completely forgot to drop Giles' books off because I was so anxious to see you.  But to borrow a phrase, you have Something Face.  So what's up?"  He planted his feet wide and crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned back against the car door.  There was only one person on this planet as stubborn as Buffy, and right now he was waiting for an answer.

She ducked her head and stared intently at a button on his shirt.  A moment later she could feel his long cool fingers sliding along her jawbone, gently compelling her to face him.

"Mom's home," she said grudgingly.  "She knew I was planning on moving the rest of my stuff out, but I hadn't told her what day.  Then somehow she found out and she stayed."

Angel felt a quiver of unease travel through his body and come to rest in his heart.  He knew how close mother and daughter had always been, and he hated to be the cause of their rift.  

He would also hate it if Joyce caused problems between he and Buffy.  Actually he would more than hate it.  Not permit, that was closer.  And yet he still had to be civil to and about the woman who would cheerfully dance on his grave, if only he would stay in it this time.

"Well that explains the strange car in the driveway."  He stalled for time, trying to find an upside to the sudden wrench thrown into his plans.  "Okay...so maybe this is a good thing," he said half-heartedly.  "You needed to settle things anyway, and I really haven't liked the idea that I'm stealing you away in the dead of night."

Buffy grinned unwillingly.  "Remind you a little too much of your teenage years, lover?"  

It seemed so crazy to think of him as a teenager.  He was Angel; he was as old in body as he would ever be, and so much younger in spirit than when she first met him, but to picture him as a reckless teenager...Buffy couldn't wrap her mind around that one, try as she might.

"Not quite," he answered dryly.  "I wasn't the eloping kind.  And living together was a little different in those days."

"Ooh, I'm sensing some backstory here," she teased.  "Are there any little secrets I need to hear about before we paint our names on the mailbox?" 

"Enough about my past; let's talk about our future, and what part your mother is trying to play in it."  

Discussions of his long-ago youth always made Angel uncomfortable.  He had reached the point where he could begin to separate Angelus' actions from his own, but there was no one to blame for young Liam Mannion's behavior, except the man he had become.

Buffy's good humor vanished when confronted with reality.  She sat on the hood of the convertible as Angel leaned against the closed door.  Her feet swung back and forth, gently banging against the tire as she stared at up the starlit sky.

"She said all the usual stuff about how we shouldn't live together, or see each other, and I think at one point there was even some mention of moving to separate planets...but I'm not positive about that one.  Anyway, same old, same old, so I tuned it out.  But then she…she got mad, really mad at us."  Buffy turned her hazel-eyed gaze to capture her lover's eyes.  "I told her Dad was being a good sport about the whole living together thing, which I really didn't expect because you know how fathers are supposed to be with their daughters, not that our relationship is typical, or maybe it is, I don't know."

"Buffy, you're stalling."  He said it patiently, but she could hear the steel within.

"I know, it's just...she said it was because he didn't know.  That it wasn't fair to make her be the bad guy because he's a good sport without knowing all the facts.  All the…unusual aspects of our relationship."  She tore her eyes away from his, not willing to see the pain she inflicted, even in this half-light.

"You mean the vampire aspect," he said calmly.  He had known this day would come, had known it was inevitable.  He had hoped, however, to put it off just a little while longer.  He had certain plans for the next few days that he didn't want ruined by familial angst.

"Yeah, that would be the big aspect."  She sighed gustily.  "Of course, there's also the slayer thing; can't forget that.  We can't really explain your diet and why it doesn't wig me out unless we explain my extracurricular activities."

"And we're going to do this when?"  Please, not yet, he begged silently.  Just a few more days, then we'll come back to earth and face the firing squad.

"Tomorrow," Buffy replied flatly.  "She called Dad, but he couldn't make it tonight, so he's coming tomorrow."

Angel ran his hand through his dark hair, trying to see a way to salvage the next few crucial days.  "Yeah, he had a conference in Salinas today," he said absently.  "He won't be back until late."

Buffy stared at him in astonishment.  "And when did you become my dad's personal secretary?  Should I be jealous?"

"He's been stopping in a lot lately."  Angel shrugged; he couldn't understand her confusion.  To him it seemed only natural that her father should check him out carefully, and Angel would have respected him less if he hadn't.

"When I was there, sure," Buffy said slowly, "but even when I'm in Sunnydale?  Are you two bonding or something?  That's so sweet."  A smile of relief washed over her face.  Angel and her dad were becoming friends.

Or they were until her mother set out to spoil it.

"I thought...that is you two seem to be..." Angel stammered, "you look like you're trying to make a go of it, so I thought I should make an effort too.  And I guess your dad feels the same way because he's been coming to the office a lot.  He even helped me move some stuff over to the new house."  Angel shook his head and grinned ruefully.  "Of course he didn't understand why I wanted to wait until dark to drive over there.  Though I guess if we tell him the truth he will."

"This is going to wreck everything, isn't it?  He'll freak, just like Mom wants, and he'll hurt your feelings and…God, I could just strangle Mom for doing this!"

Angel caught her upraised fist and pulled her hand over to his mouth for a gentle kiss.

"It's okay, Buffy.  I'm a big boy, and I can take it.  As long as I have you, I can take anything."

"You will always have me, Angel.  Believe that."

She slid off of the hood and slipped into Angel's waiting arms.  As she closed her eyes and laid her head on his chest, she whispered a silent prayer to the ever-elusive Powers That Be.  They had fought so long and so hard for the right to be together, all in the name of love.  Surely the Powers would not let them be destroyed in the same name.

* * * * *

Joyce watched the lovers from behind the shelter of the curtain drawn across the front window.  She had known who pulled up in front of the house without even asking; Buffy had flown out of the door in mid-sentence.  And now her daughter, her only child, her future, was in that man's arms, for all the world to see.  Almost as though Angel was a normal man, a normal boyfriend, and as though theirs could ever be a normal relationship.

Joyce wasn't blind; she could see the physical basis for the attraction, even in the dim light of the streetlamp.  Angel was a good-looking...former man, and of course her daughter was beautiful, so she could see why he was interested in Buffy.  For the moment they also shared common goals, but who knew how long that would last?  Angel's philanthropic attitude was only as durable as his curse, and Joyce had her doubts about the strength of both.  One day her darling, naïve daughter might wake up to find herself in bed with the ultimate evil once again.  For all they knew, that curse was a veritable minefield of unexploded clauses that might destroy both Angel and Buffy.

Even if Joyce conceded the possibility that his curse might remain intact, the fact that it would remain for time immemorial was a major argument against Angel.  He was immortal; he would always remain as youthful and attractive in appearance as he was now.  Her daughter, meanwhile, would hopefully live long enough to show her age.  She would mature from a radiant young girl into a beautiful woman, but eventually that too would mellow into "striking" or maybe "attractive," at best.  Would that be enough for Angel, or would he seek younger and more comely companionship?  At what point did men stop trying to regain their lost youth through reflected glory?

It wasn't as though these were even the worst of their problems, Joyce fretted as she peered through the window.  The most serious obstacle to their relationship should be obvious to even a man as clueless as her ex-husband.  

Angel was dead.  

Not dead tired, or dead right, or even dead drunk.  He was just plain dead.  A walking, talking, non-breathing symbol of all that was wrong with Buffy's life, and no amount of looks or charm could make up for that.

Joyce stepped away from the window and began to pace the length of the room, trying to fan the flames of her righteous indignation with a little creative reinterpretation of history.  LA vampires and burning gymnasiums be damned; to her mind it was obvious all this slayer business was tied to this town, and that man.  If they had stayed away from Sunnydale, he and Buffy would never have met and she would have abandoned this "sacred duty" idea long ago.   

Instead, Buffy was planning on devoting her life to him and to stopping the evil his kind perpetuated.  She would gamble with her life night after night, until one night she lost it all, and all because of some grandiose ideals he encouraged her to believe.  She would never escape the darkness now because she chose to let it into her heart and her bed.

Well, not if Joyce Summers had anything to say about it.  There was more than one way to skin a cat, or a vampire.

She moved back to the window and pulled the curtain aside once again, this time not bothering to hide herself behind it.  Let him know she was watching him, and let him be afraid, she thought with a grimace.  He had already done more damage to her daughter than Joyce ever should have permitted, but now the gloves were off.

* * * * *

"She's watching us," Angel murmured into his beloved's hair.  "Maybe we should go in."  

He could feel the chill of Joyce's gaze even out in the driveway.  In his soulless days he might have attributed his heightened awareness to superior vampire senses.  These days he recognized it more prosaically as man's instinctive wariness around his mother-in-law.

"You and your bionic eye," Buffy grumbled against his shirt.  "Anyone else wouldn't have been able to see her in the dark."  Reluctantly she pulled her head up from the hollow of his shoulder that she claimed as her own.

He dropped a swift kiss on her lips, resolutely closing his eyes to shut out the vision of a baleful Joyce scowling at him from the darkened living room.

"Sorry sweetheart, I am what I am.  Now can we go in and get the hellos over with so we can get back to the apartment and continue this reunion in private?" he begged.  "We are staying at the apartment, right; not here?"

She grinned at him, more than a little amused by the trepidation in his voice.  "Yes, honey, we're going back to our own home tonight.  Somehow I don't think Mom is ready for you and I to be sharing a room under her roof, and I am not about to have you this close and then let you slip away again.  Not even for one night."  

Buffy slid her hand around to the back of Angel's neck and urged him to lean down for another lingering kiss.  She could almost physically feel the weight of her mother's disapproving eyes upon her, but she really didn't care anymore.  This was right and Buffy knew it.  And if Joyce didn't want to admit it, that was going to be her own undoing.

* * * * *

"Keep it together, Joyce.  Just stay clam and focused."  Joyce repeated her mantra over and over as she watched Buffy and Angel head towards the porch.  "You can do this; you have to do this."

She forced a smile when she heard the doorknob turning, though the smile was cold enough to cause snow flurries in several small Caribbean villages.  With measured steps, she left the sanctuary of the living room to greet her daughter and her daughter's less-than-welcome companion.

"And Cordy didn't know what was wrong with him either?" Buffy was asking as Joyce stepped into the hallway. 

"No, she swore she doesn't have a...hello, Mrs. Summers." Angel's voice was grave as he broke off his conversation with Buffy and nodded his head at Joyce.  "You're looking well.  How have you been?"

Joyce felt her resolve slip away.  He was too calm, too self-assured; he thought he'd already won. She wouldn't let him win; she would not abandon her daughter to that kind of future.  

"I'm fine.  Fit as a fiddle.  And you?  Still dead as a...well, you know."

"Mom, I thought we already had that little talk about human beings and how you're supposed to be acting like one."  Buffy clutched Angel's hand with a grip strong enough to fracture normal bones.  "If you can't even pretend to be civil, maybe we should just leave right now and forget the whole thing."  

"And I suppose you think that would let you off the hook for telling your dad about Angel; is that the idea?"  Joyce shook her head.  "Not this time, Buffy.  I will tell him, with or without you.  He deserves to know who, or rather what, his only daughter is sleeping with."

Joyce regretted the words the instant they left her mouth, but it was too late.  Sarcasm was Buffy's favorite weapon, but Joyce knew that using it against her would only antagonize her. Somehow she had to get control of herself, despite a raging tide of feral mother-love.  

"Okay, now you're starting to give wicked step-mothers a good name," Buffy snapped.  She tried to ignore the stab of pain at the sight of her mother's set face.  She had known this wasn't going to work, so why did it hurt so much to be proven right?

"I've been really patient today, Mom, and I've let you use a whole lot of not so very nice words I didn't even think you knew.  But before you start showing off for company, I think we'd better leave."  She turned swiftly on one heel, but encountered unexpected resistance in the form of an unmoving Angel.  "Angel, come on, let's go home."  She tugged at his hand, but he continued to regard her steadily.

"We're going to do this, Buffy.  I'm not sure this is the right time, but we've been avoiding it for long enough."  A little voice whispered in his head of important plans to be kept, but he forced himself to concentrate on the moment.  He would manage both; somehow he would have to.

"I'm surprised," Joyce admitted grudgingly.  "I would have thought this was the last thing you'd be willing to face.  Surely one of the perks to being a vampire is not having to 'do' dinner with a young girl's parents."

"There was no need to deal with Buffy's father before," Angel replied quietly.  "He wasn't a part of her life.  Now he is, or at least he's trying, so I guess he needs to be let into the club."  He glanced down at Buffy's hand, still firmly ensconced in his own.  "Even if that changes a few relationships."

"I'm sure it will."  

Joyce's smile was serene at last.  She could see the future now, once she prevailed and Angel was on his way back to his own life, minus her darling daughter.  And she would prevail, because she must, for Buffy's sake.

Buffy knew what that smile meant.  "That's not the relationship that's going to change, Mom," she warned her mother grimly.

* * * * *

"I just need to make one phone call before we turn in," Angel explained over his shoulder as he unlocked the door to their condo.  "I need to let Cordy and Doyle know that we'll be here for a few days."

"I'm sorry about all this," Buffy said, running her hand up and down his back.  "I talked and I talked to her today, but, well, you heard her.  It's like cutting a diamond with a...banana peel."

Angel pushed the door open and turned around to pull Buffy inside with him.  She followed slowly, her mind still caught up with her mother's blind streak.

"She won't even try to see my point," she complained, leaning back against the closed door.  "I love you, you love me, and we're happy together.  Why is that so hard for her to accept?  Isn't me living happily ever after supposed to mean she did her job right?"

"Maybe she's afraid me being in your life means 'ever after' isn't a very long time," he suggested.  He pulled her into his arms, trying to warm her with his soul if not his body.  "You see enough danger as the Slayer; you probably don't need to be hanging out with demons in your downtime."

"I need you," she answered simply.

Need; few things were so simple, and yet so complex.  

He needed to call the office; he needed to explain a few things to his friends.  But as he looked down at the young blonde woman resting in his arms, he knew nothing was more important that the need he felt to comfort her, and take comfort in her.

"I really should call the office," he protested half-heartedly, "but I guess..." his voice died away as her lips slid down his throat to his chest, her hands following close behind. 

"Phone later," she whispered, holding him prisoner with the light warmth of her body wrapped around his.  He was the only part of her life she was absolutely certain of, and she was not going to let anyone or anything get in the way of that.

It only took an instant for him to decide.  "Much later," he agreed, slowly backing them up towards the bedroom.

* * * * *

"Cordelia, I'm sorry I'm calling so late but…no, I really am sorry," he whispered into the phone.  

Angel glanced over his shoulder to assure himself that Buffy was still sleeping beside him.  He knew he should have made this call from the living room, but he couldn't bear to leave her so soon. 

"We're going to be here for another day or two," he continued, "and I need you to do something for me...it's important, that's why it can't wait until morning.  I'm expecting a package and I need...yes, I'm calling about a package at two in the morning.  I said I was sorry."  

Buffy stirred restlessly in her sleep, warning Angel that his voice was getting a little too loud.  He hastily lowered it before he awakened her.  

"It will be sent to the office and I need you to let me know right away when it comes...no, I won't tell you what's in it…yes, we're friends, but I'm still not going to...no, I wouldn't tell Doyle either.  Please, just keep an eye out for it.  It's small, but very, very important...no, it's not a puppy."  

He held the phone away from his ear for a moment and stared at it, in lieu of staring at Cordelia.  

"Who would send me a...never mind.  I promise, it's nothing living...or formerly living...no, it won't blow up either...very funny, Cor. No, I'm not kicking myself for leaving the hair gel behind...Good night, Cordy."

Angel carefully clicked the phone off and placed it on the nightstand.  Buffy was still sound asleep as he slid beneath the covers and gathered her in his arms.  He sighed deeply as her heart beat a soothing rhythm against his chest.  He had done all he could for the moment; now he could rest.  The future would have to take care of itself.

* * * * *

Cordelia thoughtfully, and repetitively, tapped her chin with the antenna on the cordless phone, until Phantom Dennis could stand it no longer and took the device away from her.  As the phone drifted across the living room, she shifted positions, pulling her long legs up on the sofa and draping her arms around them.  She rested her chin on her knees and gazed somberly at Doyle on the other end of the couch.  

"He needs to know, Doyle," Cordelia said firmly.  "I can't believe you waited this long to tell either of us."

They had been talking for hours before Angel called, and she still was not satisfied.  Doyle offered countless reasons for his silence, and some of them even made sense.  That didn't change the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"I had to work things out for myself first, darlin.  How could I tell you when I didn't know?"  It had been a long road, and the worst was yet to come, but they were so close to done, at long last.  He hadn't felt so free in months.

"But you do now, so when are you going to tell him?" she pressed.  "At least before, when he asked if I knew what was wrong I could say 'no.' Now it would be lying, and I don't like to lie to Angel."  She paused for a moment.  "He always knows I'm lying anyway, so what good does it do?"

"I only need a few more days, Cordy," he begged.  "Angel is tied up in Sunnydale; he just said so.  Give me those days, and then I'll tell him everything, I swear."

She wanted to say no.  She had never liked keeping secrets, even from people she didn't like; it required too much planning for every single sentence.  But lying to Angel felt particularly wrong.  He was family, hers as well as Doyle's, and families shouldn't have secrets.  They knew the worst about each other; why couldn't Angel handle this?

"Please, I'm begging you."  Doyle slid off the sofa and down onto one knee in front of Cordelia.  "Cordy, be my sweet girl and do as I ask just this once.  Let me tell him, when I'm ready."

"You promise you'll tell him the minute they get back?  The very minute?" she insisted, clutching his shoulders and shaking him slightly.

"Cross my heart and hope to..."

He couldn't complete the vow through the hand Cordelia clapped over his mouth.

"Don't ever say that," she snapped.  "You never know who might be listening."

A chair tumbled over in the kitchen.

"I didn't mean you, Dennis," she sighed.

* * * * *

She listened to the heartbeats.  

The streets of Sunnydale were dark and hushed.  Even the homeless had settled into shelters and doorways for the night, leaving the city in the grasp of the creatures of the night. Leaving the city for those who could hear the heartbeats, and the quick breaths that drove them to continue.  

So many hearts, she mused, all forcing rivers of blood through narrow channels, each ready to overflow the banks at the slightest instigation.  In the fullness of time, she would tend to them all, one by one, and drop by delicious drop.

But for now she only listened.

She wandered through the darkness alone and unafraid.  Time slipped away from her, the hours until dawn quickly melting away whilst she drifted in a blissful haze.  The Slayer was here, and so was he; she could sense them in the prickling under her skin.  They were happy, so happy in their ignorance.  The world lay at their feet and nothing stood in their way; at least nothing important.  It was a time for healing and celebration.  Soon the others would come, and the party could begin.  

She just loved parties.

* * * * *

-To Be Continued-


	2. Chapter 2

**Anam Cara**

**Part Two**

By Gem

"Tell me again why we're doing this in a restaurant," Angel grumbled, pulling dark sweater over his head.  As his head came through the hole, he continued his diatribe.  "I mean, do we really want your father trying to stake me with a chair leg while half of Sunnydale is trying to eat?"  Suddenly another horrifying thought struck him.  "It's not an Italian place, is it?  You know I have certain issues with...just tell me it's not Italian."

"Easy, big fella; I already told Dad you're allergic to garlic."  Buffy turned from the mirror on the vanity table, forsaking her make-up rituals to reassure him.  "And would you relax about the restaurant thing; it's no big deal.  I thought it would be easier if we got Mom out in a public place to start the evening off calmly.  Dad can see how unfair she is to you, and that will help when we get him back to Mom's house and break the news.  I want him firmly on our side before he hears anything that might, umm, make him a little nervous."

"Like hearing his daughter's boyfriend is a two-hundred-year-old bloodsucking demon?" He was trying to keep his voice light, but he could tell from Buffy's wince that it was a losing battle.

"Yup, that would be a big part of it."  She turned back to the mirror and continued to speak as she applied her eyeliner.  "Of course I don't think he's going to be doing handsprings when he finds out all the little sidebars of my life story either, and when he hears that Mom knew and didn't tell him..."  

Buffy twirled the pencil between her fingers as she contemplated the ensuing scene.  It wasn't hard to imagine; similar dramas had been played out almost every night of the last few years of her parents' marriage.

"Let's just make sure we're back at the house by then; we so don't want to be in public for that rehashing of the 'she's my daughter too' argument.  It's an oldie but a goodie from the divorced parents' songbook."  She picked up her blush brush, and then put it down with a sigh; suddenly it hardly seemed worth the effort.  All the colors in the Crayola 64-pack wouldn't make her visible once that portion of the evening started.

Angel was overcome with a wave of guilt.  He'd been obsessed with his own visions of the night before him, and somehow lost sight of Buffy's concerns about the same.  She was not only fighting for her life with him, but also her own independence from her parents.  It was a fight he remembered all too clearly from his own youth, but he was determined her struggles would end on a more positive note.

Of course as long as Buffy didn't gut her parents, he reflected with grim amusement, it couldn't help but be at least slightly more positive.

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry."  He swiftly crossed the room and rested his hands on her bare shoulders, gently massaging the knots he could feel beneath her skin.  "I guess I'm a little wired now that it's time, but I know this isn't easy for you either.  We'll get through it somehow, though, and I guarantee it will be in one piece."

Buffy leaned back into his hands, relishing the feel of his long cool fingers smoothing the tension from her muscles.  Closing her eyes to concentrate on the sensations, she tipped her head back and offered her lips in an invitation he was only too happy to accept.

The upside-down kiss ended quickly, but Angel was not yet finished with his ministrations.   His hands still coaxed the worries of the day from her neck, and then began moving down to offer similar comfort to her back.  He nuzzled her hair with his cheek as Buffy arched her spine and twisted her head to capture his lips once more.

The ringing of the phone put an end to Angel's new career as a massage therapist in short order.

"Did I tell you we're not having one of these at the new house?" he grumbled as he reached for the cordless phone on the dresser.  "No phone, no fax, no doorbell, nothing.  When we close that door, we're on a desert island."

Buffy smiled as she slid her hand down his free arm.  "Sounds great to me.  When do we set sail?"

"As soon as the Inquisition is over," he promised, clicking the phone on. "Hello," he snapped into the mouthpiece, not really caring whom he might offend.  "No, I don't want my carpets cleaned...yes, eventually, but not right this minute...I don't care if it's a free home trial...if you call again, you are going to become one of the stains on my rug.  Good night!"  He slammed the phone down on the dresser.  

"Angel," Buffy said slowly, "have you been drinking Cordelia's espresso again?"  She raised an eyebrow at him.

"What? No!  Please."  Suddenly the reason for her question became apparent.  "I'm sorry; I don't mean to come unglued.  But it's been like this all day.  If it's not Giles on the phone about a translation, then it's Willow coming over to share a new spell, or Xander dropping in to..." he cocked his head, "What was his excuse again?"

"Pizza.  He thought Willow said she was going to bring one with her." 

"Oh, right.  Well, that one may actually have been legit, but the others..."

Buffy stood up quickly and wound her arms around him.  "Funny, isn't it?  We're so close to getting Cordy and Doyle trained to knock before they barge in, and then we come back here and it's time to send the rest of the gang to Obedience School."

"I'll pay for the choke chains."

She pretended not to hear his offer.  "I didn't think it would get so out of hand when I called Will, but I guess it's finally dawned on them that this is it.  I'm gone.  To us it's exciting but they...well, they're feeling a little abandoned."

"And I'm the one who's kidnapping you," he concurred glumly.

"Let's call it a co-kidnapping," she compromised.  "I'm a willing conspirator.  More than willing.  Enthusiastic even.  But we can't expect them to feel the same way."

"No, I suppose not.  I know if they tried to take you away from me...well, the imagery is a little...but hey, we probably shouldn't be going there right now."  He smiled guiltily at her.  "Maybe that's why I'm so edgy tonight.  I know exactly how your mother feels about me being in your life, and now she's trying to get your father on her side.  I don't want you to feel pulled between us all, but every day we're together makes me greedy for more.  I couldn't stand..."

She didn't let him complete the thought; to her mind it wasn't worth giving air to.  She swiftly rose to her toes and sealed her mouth to his, effectively diverting his attention.

"We want happy thoughts," she said a few minutes later, " only happy thoughts.  You, me, our new house, lots of demons to kill...okay, well, that might not qualify as a bona fide happy thought in some universes, but it'll get me through summer reruns."  She grinned at him, grateful to see a smile chase across his pale face before he leaned over to kiss her one last time.

"You're a nut, you know that, don't you?"

"And aren't you the lucky one for it," she agreed, reaching for her lipstick and a tissue to do a little damage control.  That accomplished, she grabbed the shawl Angel had thoughtfully draped across the back of her chair and flashed him a relatively bright smile.  "Okay, I'm as gorgeous as I'm going to get with butterflies doing the Macarena in my stomach.  How about you?"

Angel slipped on his suit jacket, checking his pocket for keys and a wallet.  Finding neither, he glanced wildly about the room until his eyes lit upon the objects, resting on the nightstand just inches from his left hand.  He grinned sheepishly as he scooped them up.

"I'm doing great.  Just great."

* * * * *

Angel's nerves improved only slightly on the drive to the restaurant.  Watching Buffy as she played with the radio station and rummaged through the glove compartment for a breath mint made the world and his place in it start to shift back into perspective.  But all too soon they were pulling up to the curb and it was time to face the lions.  When he opened Buffy's door and offered her a hand, he didn't let it go.

"This is the easy part, right?" he muttered as they walked into the restaurant.  "Dinner, a few drinks," he looked sharply at Buffy, "for us, not you."

She made a face at him as they passed the coatroom.

"A little meaningless small talk," he continued, "and then we're outta here."  He sighed heavily and forced himself to let go of her hand.  "And then the real fun begins."

They paused in the doorway of the dining room, searching for Hank or Joyce Summers.  

"Oh, wait, there's Mom," Buffy waved half-heartedly towards a table by the fire.  "No sign of Dad, though."  

The light from a wall sconce reflected off of her hand as she waved, reminding Angel of another potential pitfall.  "Buffy," he asked warily, "does your father know that we're not actually..." he glanced down at her left hand, fingers bare except for a small silver claddagh ring, "yet?"

Buffy flushed; Angel wasn't sure if it was due to embarrassment at her deception, or his own use of the word 'yet.'  He was hoping it was the latter.

"Well," she said, dragging the word out to impossible lengths in her hesitation, "you've actually seen more of him than I have lately.  What have you told him?"

Part of him wanted to tease her a bit, since she was the one who announced to her father that they were engaged, not to mention telling Kate that they were already married.  But he remembered the catch in his throat when he heard Buffy call him her fiancé, and when he heard Kate call Buffy his wife.  On the surface she had lied, but there was truth at the essence, and that truth deserved a return in kind.

"I've told him...that I love you very much."

Buffy slipped her arm under his jacket and around his waist, nestling in to the line of his body. "So do we make a run for it while we still can, or just pull out the guns and fire first?"

"Very funny."  He cocked a half-smile as he draped his arm around her shoulders, holding his love fast within his embrace.

"He thinks I'm kidding," she murmured to the air as they began to cross the room.

* * * * *

Joyce could feel every muscle in her body tense when she spotted her daughter and Angel standing in the doorway of the dining room.  Even from this distance she could see that he had his arm around Buffy in an unmistakable gesture of solidarity.  More than that: of possession.  He was shouting to the world that her little girl belonged to him, as though she was a prize.  No doubt to a vampire she was, but it was a gesture designed to set any loving mother's teeth on edge.

She focused on her objective: strength in numbers.  When Hank learned the truth about his daughter's companion, he would be every bit as outraged as Joyce.  No more of this "but he's not a bad guy, Joyce" and "he really seems to love her, Joyce" and, of course, her very favorite:  "but she seems so happy, Joyce."  

No more.

A smile, she needed a smile.  Joyce panicked for a moment; she couldn't smile.  What did she have to smile about?  Her daughter was in love with the undead.  An undead.  Whatever.  She had nothing whatsoever to smile about, and yet she must.  She needed to project optimism and control, so that Angel would know he was facing an unstoppable force.  She had managed to persuade him once to leave her daughter, using smiles and soft words.  Tonight the words would not be as soft, but she must seem every bit as confident of herself.  He had to know that she knew that…well, he had to know that she was right and he was wrong and he better leave before she found Buffy's secret stash of stakes and turned him into a just-add-water vampire.

It frightened her how easily that thought brought the smile that had previously eluded her.

* * * * *

"She's smiling," Angel muttered into Buffy's ear. "Why is she smiling?"  

He wasn't really expecting an answer as he steered them both around a chair left in the aisle by a careless waiter.  His lover, however, had a fairly good idea of her mother's thought processes.

"Umm, she thinks she's going to win?"  Buffy glanced up at Angel, all traces of levity gone.  "She's not, you know."

Angel drew a deep unnecessary breath.  "I know."

"This is so funny," she marveled as they approached the table.  "When we met my dad, I was the one who was jell-o and you were fine.  I guess the foot's on the other...no, wait, reverse that."

"At the time you were barely speaking to him; it really didn't matter if he liked me," Angel explained.  "Now you two are a family again, and you and I are a family and you and your mom are a family.  I'm just not sure if you and I and he and she can make one family."

"Doesn't matter.  The you and I part is the only part that counts."

"No, it's not."

She didn't have a chance to reply; they were at the table.

"Buffy, Angel."  Joyce nodded regally at them from her chair.  "You're a little early."

"Says the woman who's halfway done with her martini already."  Buffy draped her shawl across the back of a chair and tried a slightly stiff smile on for size.  "Is Dad here yet?"

"It's a vodka gimlet, actually; I didn't like the martini they brought me.  And yes, he was here before me even.  He and his date, imagine that."  Joyce forced a soft laugh.  "They went to check her coat or something, but they'll be right back."

"His date?  I thought this was supposed to be a family dinner."  Buffy made a face as Angel pulled out a chair for her.  

"Yes, well..." Joyce's voice trailed off, not quite mentioning Angel's less than family status, but leaving her companions in no doubt as to her meaning.

Buffy flushed with annoyance, but Angel's hand was steady and cool against her back as she took her seat.  It reminded her not only of the battle to be won, but the prize for victory.

"I just didn't know Dad was seeing anyone," she explained with grudging patience.  When Angel sat down beside her, Buffy took his hand firmly in hers.  

"Did you know?" she asked him quietly.  It wasn't like Angel to keep secrets, at least not anymore.

He shrugged as he signaled a waiter to come over to take their drink orders.  "No, this is the first I've heard of it.  Must be someone new."

There was a brief awkward moment of silence.  Angel reached back in his memory for the right phrase or question to use to break the ice, but Joyce had been right about one thing:  even as a human he had never been a "dinner with the parents" type of guy.

"So, umm, I noticed you've traded in the SUV, Joyce.  How do you like your new Cruiser?"  It wasn't much of a conversational gambit, but if Joyce liked cars the way Hank did...

"It's fine."   

...And yet there was always the chance she didn't, Angel realized an instant too late.  Obviously a mutual passion for cars was not one of the things that brought Joyce and Hank together.  Still, and despite the distinct chill in the air, he persevered.  

"I had to laugh when I first saw those cars.  Not because they're funny or anything," he added quickly when he saw Joyce's lips tighten.  "They're just kind of old-fashioned looking; it surprised me.  I mean, I used to have a car just like that back in the..." his voice dwindled away for a moment before he gathered the strength to finish his ill-advised comment.  "Back in the forties," he finally said, flashing an apologetic look at the wincing Buffy.

If anything, Joyce's expression became even cooler.  

"So did my grandfather." 

Angel was saved from further foot swallowing by Hank's return.

"Well, good evening everybody."  Hank kissed Buffy's cheek and shook Angel's hand as he came around the table.  "Sorry I stepped away; I just needed to take care of something."  He slid into his seat next to Joyce and beamed at one and all.

"Or someone," Buffy corrected him dryly.  "Mom told us you brought a date."  She glanced over her shoulder.  "Where is she?"

"She needed to make a brief stop in the, umm, well, I think she wanted to fix her make-up or something.  Make a good impression and all."

"So how did you two meet?" Buffy asked, struggling to act normally.  She really didn't relish Joyce shooting verbal daggers in front of a complete stranger, but there seemed to be no escape from the situation.  Maybe it would at least draw some of the heat away from Angel.

"Listen, this evening is about you and Angel.  No talk about my love life."  Hank nervously cleared his throat.  "Not that there's much to tell anyway.  I just met her a few weeks ago.  That conference I went to in New Orleans; do you remember me mentioning that?  She was staying at the same pension and we...well, I wouldn't have even brought her tonight, but she got all dressed up for a family dinner and then I guess her family had to back out.  I felt bad."

Angel shot a quick look at Buffy, gauging the state of her temper.  She seemed more exasperated than truly angry, which relieved him immensely.  There would be enough issues to deal with in the next few hours without the addition of hurt feelings over Daddy's new girlfriend.

"Well, I'm sure she appreciates you inviting her," Angel said smoothly.  Truth be told, he was rather relieved to be sharing the spotlight as the outsider at a family picnic.

"I just hope I'm not inviting her into anything too personal," Hank joked.  "I'm assuming this urgent need for a family conference has to do with setting a wedding date."

Buffy immediately pounded her choking mother on the back as Hank stood up and waved to someone approaching from behind.

"Here she is."

Angel gave Buffy's hand an extra squeeze.

"Did you start the party without me?" asked a voice from behind them.

Buffy and Angel both froze in the act of turning around in their seats.  The voice was lilting and musical, and in the past it was usually followed by the sound of screams.

As she came around the table, Drusilla beamed at them.

* * * * *

Hank rested his arm around Drusilla's waist.  "Drusilla dear, I want you to meet...Buffy, what's wrong?"

Buffy was halfway out of her seat before she realized she couldn't attack her nemesis in the middle of a restaurant.  Even if the crowd of diners hadn't been an issue, the solid bulk of Angel's body provided a substantial obstacle, suddenly positioned as he was between she and Dru. 

Sometimes it bothered her that Angel could read her thoughts before she even finished the sentences.

"Umm, nothing Dad," Buffy managed to choke out.  She clutched Angel's arm with a deadly grip, though she wasn't sure if it was for the sake of her hold on reality, or his.

"Angel love, I had no idea."  Dru slipped away from Hank to move closer to her sire.  Her smile was innocent and charming, as long as one didn't attempt to look too deeply into the black pools of her eyes.

"You two know each other?"  Hank hoped his voice didn't sound as suddenly deflated as his ego.  This was a most unexpected, and none-too-welcome turn of events.

Dru glanced quickly over her shoulder, lightly brushing Angel's face with the swinging tips of her long dark hair.  "Angel is my brother, dear one.  The one I told you about."

"Drusilla," Angel acknowledged her gravely.  

He didn't trust himself to say more, and he could only hope his face was as impassive as he tried to make his voice, in the teeth of her familial fictions.

Hank's face cleared in an instant.  "Your brother?  Well that's great, just great!  I had no idea that Angel was..." he looked quickly at Angel, "though come to think of it, you did mention you had a sister.  Is Drusilla the one that nicknamed you Angel?"

"No," Angel snarled before he could help himself.  The swift mocking smile that danced across Dru's lips forced him to control his temper.  "That was my little sister Kathy."  He paused.  "She died a long time ago."

Joyce glanced from Drusilla to Angel in abject confusion.  "Your sister?  But how is that possible?"  And why did the girl's name sound so familiar to her?

"We'll do the family tree later, Mom." Turning to Dru, the Slayer all but growled, "What are you doing here?"  

Buffy instantly felt the muscles in Angel's arm cord beneath her fingertips, reminding her that antagonizing Drusilla in a restaurant full of innocent people was liable to end in the diners becoming the entrée.  

"We thought you were in Spain," she continued in a slightly less menacing tone.

"I was, but I missed my family."  Dru turned to Hank, her peculiarly sweet smile at full wattage.  "Are we going to sit down?"

"Oh, of course."  Hank pulled out a chair for her, seating Dru between himself and Joyce.  He sat down next to Angel, glancing from his daughter's companion to his own.  "Well, I can certainly see the family resemblance."

Angel was visibly startled.  "I don't think I..."

"The dark hair, the eyes, the pale skin," Hank elaborated, gesturing from one marbled cheek to the other.  "Even the cold hands," he joked, swiftly caressing one of Drusilla's hands as it lay on the table next to his own. "The only thing that doesn't match is the accents."

Buffy winced as she took in the similarities her father pointed out.  She had never noticed how much they looked alike; she was only grateful that Dru was not yet another entry in Angel's little blondes book.  There were already too many of those for comfort.

"Angel is from Ireland," Dru said limpidly.  "He was raised there by his mother."

Angel had a brief flash of memory.  Silk pressing down on his face, held there by slabs of oak.  Clods of freshly turned earth raining down on him as he forced open the lid of his prison.  Air rushing into his lungs, drawn there by greedy but unnecessary gasps.  And waiting at the end of the journey was Darla, coolly amused by his struggles, yet heatedly impatient for his arrival.

Drusilla was not lying; his mother had indeed raised him, from the grave if nothing else.

"I was raised in London by my father," she continued, flashing an impish grin at Angel.

"So you're not completely brother and sister?  I mean you're half or step or something?"  Hank frowned as he worked out the logistics.  "Actually, if your mother wasn't her mother and Drusilla's father wasn't..."

"We're half," Angel replied heavily as he pulled Buffy's chair back into place for her.

"I still don't understand." Joyce's voice was a little louder this time, and more insistent.  Whoever this girl was, and it was clear Buffy and Angel knew even if Hank did not, she could not be Angel's sister.  

"Angel really didn't get along with Drusilla's, umm, father," Buffy interjected hastily.  She slipped into her chair and pulled Angel's cold, still hand into her own warm ones, squeezing it tightly.  "They had nothing in common, nothing at all.  So he didn't see much of Dru until a few years ago."

"Daddy and I were very close."  Her tone was soft, but steady, with none of the familiar singsong quality Buffy had come to associate with her mad rival.  "It broke my heart when he died.  I would give anything to bring him back."

"That's never going to happen," Buffy said flatly.  Vivid images suddenly rose in her head, demonstrating how she could easily prevent such an occurrence.  Most of them involved Dru and various types of wood, some of it in the form of torches.

Really big torches.

"Buffy!"  Joyce was pulled from her own confused ruminations by her daughter's rudeness.  This girl might be lying about her family, but it in no way excused how far beyond the bounds of civility her daughter had wandered.  "That was a very unkind thing to say."

"Mom, you don't..." she started to protest, before remembering her mother had never met Drusilla face to face before.  "Never mind."  Buffy dropped her head for a moment in discouragement before meeting Dru's eyes.  "I'm sure you miss your 'father'," she said through gritted teeth, "but sooner or later you have to move on."

"And I am," Dru said stoutly, "with the help of kind new friends."  She patted Hank's arm fondly.  

Angel resumed his seat, trying not to watch as Drusilla's platonic patting became more demonstrative. If he didn't see it, he wouldn't have to stop it.  

Yet.

The waiter at last made his appearance, pen and paper poised to serve.  "Can I get anyone a drink to start with?"

"God yes," Angel groaned before he could help himself. 

"Nothing for me, thank you ever so much."  Dru smiled sweetly at the waiter.  "I'm sure they don't carry bottles of my favorite."

"You're not getting anything on tap, that's for sure," Buffy muttered under her breath.

* * * * *

Summers, party of five, was a quiet table.  Periodically Hank would try to start a conversation, but responses were generally monosyllabic and monotone.  He thought at least Drusilla could be sparked into animation, but she merely smiled at his efforts and toyed with her food.  Eventually even Hank the eternal optimist had to admit defeat, and lapsed into silence.  The only sounds they heard came from other diners, and the clicking of silverware against the plates.

Suddenly Drusilla's clear voice penetrated the oppressive stillness.

"Angel, love, won't you please dance with me?"

"Excuse me?"   The steak knife slipped from Buffy's suddenly nerveless fingers, arcing through the air over the table.  

Without even thinking about it, Angel stretched out a long arm and caught the knife as it flew past him.  Buffy flashed him a grateful smile, which quickly died when she realized the utensil's trajectory had placed Drusilla as an end point...and the handle of the knife was wooden.

Hank whistled, releasing the breath he'd been holding.  "That was quite a catch," he said shakily.

Angel shrugged, not daring to meet Buffy's eyes.  "It was nothing."

"I want Angel to dance with me," Drusilla reiterated stubbornly, seemingly oblivious to her near miss with a powdered future.

Buffy snatched the knife back from Angel and placed it on the table with exaggerated care.  Her fingers lingered on the handle.  "I don't think this is really the time for dancing, Drusilla.  Some of us are still eating."

Drusilla pouted and tugged at Angel's sleeve.  "Your father is still eating, but I'm done, and Angel is sitting here all in a lump, not eating a bite."

"My appetite is a little off," Angel mumbled, grimacing slightly as he pushed his plate away.

"Isn't that the pot calling the kettle anorexic?" Buffy asked, her voice dripping with saccharine.  She gestured at Drusilla's nearly full plate.  "You hardly touched your own steak.  Not tartare enough for you?"

"I'm too excited to sit still and eat.  All of us here together, it's everything I imagined it would be.  Except that Angel is all grumbly."  She pushed her chair out and stood up, dragging at Angel's arm again.  "I think he needs some fun."  

"I think he needs some peace and quiet," Buffy said succinctly.  She abandoned her steak knife to wind her arms around Angel's other arm, leaning solidly into his shoulder.

Angel sighed heavily and pushed his chair back, raising Buffy's hand to his lips for a kiss before he stood up.  "And I think the only way he's going to get it is by giving the lady a dance."  He looked sharply at Drusilla.  "One dance," he repeated firmly.

She clapped her hands and squealed in delight.  "Oh goody; a dance, a dance.  I do so love to dance."

"Angel..." Buffy's voice trailed off as she worriedly looked up at her lover.

Angel leaned down and rested his hand gently on her shoulder as he spoke softly in her ear.  "We need to know why."  He said no more, but he could tell by the unhappy look in Buffy's eyes that she understood him too well.

"Be careful," she mouthed at him, not daring to say the words out loud for fear of what they could inspire in Drusilla.

"Always," he whispered back, and they both knew there was more to the promise than safety.

* * * * *

Drusilla slid easily into Angel's arms once they reached the dance floor.  He was disturbed by how familiar it felt to be holding her, after all these years.  After a few minutes of silent dancing, however, he realized a significant difference from the Dru of old.  This Dru actually stayed in his arms, instead of spinning wildly across the room, laughing and singing...and killing every human within reach.

"I can't believe you're so calm, Dru," he said dryly.  "I always knew a lot of the New Age moonchild chatter was just for show, but I had no idea how much.  You really are quite the little actress."

Drusilla scowled at him as she swayed to the music.  "You're not being very nice to me, Angel.  And after I came all this way just to see you and my new mummy."

"Oops, careful there."  Angel waved a scolding finger at her.  "You can't very well pull off whatever it is you're trying to pull off if you start the little girl routine again.  Spike might have fallen for it hook, line and sinker, but you look a little too close to Buffy's age for Hank to feel comfortable with it."

She tossed her head defiantly.  "Men love to feel protective of a woman.  It makes them feel all manly."  She waited for approval of her witticism, but Angel was not so obliging.

"There's protective and then there's pedophile."

"It always worked on you," she said shrewdly, "or does Daddy not remember that far back?"

"I remember.  I remember it got real old real fast.  Why do you think I encouraged you to make a little playmate of your own?"  

He closed his mind to the sudden reminder that her little playmate had once been a person, a live human being, whose death he solicited not even for something as necessary as blood, but just for his own peace of mind.  Drusilla's childlike behavior had rapidly worn out his limited patience, and Darla's.

A knowing smile crept across her lips.  "I think it was because we made Darla just a teensy bit too jealous.  You were afraid of getting staked in your sleep."

"Why are you here, Dru?" he asked abruptly.  "Spike's gone; he already sailed to Spain looking for you." Angel tipped his head back and contemplated the ceiling as he mused.  "But chasing after him isn't your style anyway.  You'd want him to do the legwork.  And I can't believe you gave up Pamplona for a trip down memory lane with me."

"But Spain was so boring," she complained, a frown marring the smooth landscape of her pale brow.  "All those noisy humans speaking with those funny accents; it made my head ache."

He smiled at Dru; a smile Buffy only let herself remember in her nightmares.

"Spill it, starshine, before Buffy gets completely fed up and comes after you with that steak knife she was fondling."  He removed his hand from her back to run a finger down his lapel.  "You know, I honestly don't mind getting a little dust on this coat if it's in a good cause."

"I missed having a daddy," she said with a pout.  "Spike was a fun toy, but he was my little boy."  Drusilla tilted her head at a coquettish angle and batted her eyelashes at him.  "I need a father to protect me."

"Just what do you think I'm going to protect you from?"  Angel was honestly amazed; he thought Dru had realized the change in his feelings was permanent.  "And do I even need to mention the 'why' part?"

"Oh, I don't mean you."   Bewildered innocence oozed from every pore.  "Buffy has you wrapped round and round her little finger, like a snake around a tree branch.  There's no room for me anymore."

"So what's the deal?" he insisted, as though he didn't already know.  He had trained her; he knew how she thought, better than anyone, because he had taught her to think that way.  Drusilla's next words confirmed his worst fears.

"There are other daddies out there, Angel.  Good daddies, and not so good, and some are good to the last drop."  She started to laugh, a slightly maniacal giggle, but quickly stopped when she saw the relief on Angel's face.

"You've been playing the basket case too long, Dru; you've started to buy into your own act.  That's going to trip you up faster than I can."  

He hoped, oh how he hoped, that was true.

"I can do anything; be anything," she said confidently.  "My daddy once told me so."

He remembered that conversation well; how could he not?  Her first kill.  He had told her precisely what to do, and then watched as she proceeded to make a thorough hash of it.  Still, he had told her that she showed great promise, and he was proud of her.  On the inside he might have been laughing as hard as Darla, but stronger was the perverse desire to succeed where his own father had failed.  His child would grow to meet his every expectation, simply because he did the polar opposite of his father.

Meet them she did, and then some.  And if he didn't watch his step now, she might prove herself all over again.

"Leave him alone, Dru."

"What do you mean, pet?"  Innocence was once again the weapon of choice.

"I know how the game works, Dru.  Hell, I taught you the game.  Leave Hank alone."  

"I see all these pretty circles of words spinning out of your mouth, just like smoke rings." She twirled her finger in the air, higher and higher, laughing softly the whole time.  "Up, up and away."

Angel gritted his teeth and tried again, speaking very slowly and clearly this time.  "Hank is not your father, and I won't let you use him as an appetizer, so leave him alone."

"Tit for tat, Angel."  A beatific smile lit up her face.  "Buffy took my daddy, and now I shall have hers in return."  She gently patted his shoulder to show all was now right with the world.

"This isn't a warning, Dru; it's a promise.  There is no room for negotiation this time, and there will be no mercy."

"But Angel love, why would you say that?"  Drusilla cocked her head and stared at him, seemingly puzzled.  "I'm not going to hurt your little Slayer, just her father.  You always used to say fathers were only fit as Sunday dinner, don't you remember?"

"That was a long time ago, and to put it mildly, things have changed."

"But fathers haven't."  Her hand came to rest over his heart.  "My poor Angel.  So much guilt; I can feel it pulsing like blood through your veins.  Do you really think saving Buffy's daddy from the big bad vampires will make your own father forgive you for killing him?"

* * * * *

"Well, this is nice."  Joyce smiled at her daughter and her ex-husband as they stared at their significant others on the dance floor.  "The three of us having a quiet dinner together.  And in a restaurant too, so no dishes to worry about."  She only wished she hadn't had that second gimlet to settle her nerves; then there would be no headache to worry about either.

Buffy dragged her attention away from Angel long enough to cock an eyebrow at her mother.  "I'll give you the dishes part, Mom," she said carefully, "but there are actually five of us here tonight."

Hank forced himself to stop gawking at his date, a woman who looked a little too comfortable dancing with her own brother.  "Honey, I think your mom is just glad the three of us can sit at the same table without arguing.  It's been awhile."

"I'm not going to touch the you and her arguing stuff, Dad, but part of why Mom and I are fighting is because she says things like that.  Things that exclude Angel."  

Before Joyce could form a reply, Hank jumped in again.  "Well, I think we should take advantage of this little intermission to discuss why we're all here tonight, or at least give me a hint.  I've pretty much decided wedding plans are not on the agenda, but I'm not sure what is."

"Where did you get this wedding idea anyway?" Joyce quickly shifted her focus from her distracted daughter to her clueless ex-husband.  "They're not engaged, or if they are no one has bothered to tell me."

"But I thought..." Hank's forehead wrinkled as he turned to Buffy.  "Honey, didn't you tell me that you and Angel were engaged?"

Buffy had no answer for her father; actually she hadn't even heard the question.  She had returned her attention to the dance floor just in time to see Angel flinch, as though from a blow, and now he was standing frozen in the center of the crowded floor.  Buffy knew Drusilla hadn't struck him; she would have seen that.  It could only be words the vampire was using to inflict wounds.

For Angel, words could be the most brutal of weapons.

Buffy abruptly pushed back her chair and seized her father's hand.  "Come on, Dad; I feel a sudden urge to dance."

* * * * *

Hank stumbled slightly as his daughter spun a bit too enthusiastically across the parquet floor.  He was under no illusions about her true purpose in asking him to dance; he just wished she would be a little less determined in her pursuit of her goal.

"Honey, we're making a scene here," he whispered, pulling her closer even as she strained to back them across the floor.  "Calm down and try to look like we're actually dancing."

Miraculously, Buffy seemed to hear, and even understand him.  She stopped her insistent tugging at his shoulder and tried to relax in his arms.

"Sorry, Dad."  An anxious smile flashed across her face. "I'm just a little antsy."

"About Angel dancing with his own sister?"

"There's more to it than that, Dad.  I know you like her and everything..." Buffy tried hard to repress her instinctive shudder at the thought, "but there's things you don't know.  Big things you don't know."

"I can tell she upsets you," Hank answered carefully.  "I wouldn't have sprung her on you like this if I'd known, but I'm not sorry I've gotten to know her."

"Oh, Dad..."

"Buffy, the way you see her, and the way her brother sees her, is completely different from the way I see her."

"You have no idea," she grumbled.

"And while I'm willing to listen to your side of the story," he continued sternly, "I expect you to respect my choices in life, the same way you want me to respect yours."  He glanced pointedly at Angel, who was almost within reach.

"This is so not the same thing," she protested.  "Comparing Angel and Dru is like comparing apples and...alligators."

"Buffy Anne..."

"Hank," Drusilla purred a moment later, preventing him from completing the dreaded  'I remember three names and you're out' parental gambit.  "Dear sweet Hank, have you come to rescue me from this dull boy?"

Without waiting for a reply, Drusilla stepped away from Angel and sidled over to Hank, holding out her arms.  Buffy glared at her, and then turned her attentions to her shaken boyfriend.

"Angel, are you okay?" she asked softly, slipping into his unresisting arms.  "What did she say to you?"

Those same long arms tightened ferociously about her for an instant before reluctantly allowing her room to breathe.  

"I'm fine; it's nothing," he answered hoarsely, not meeting her eyes.

She reached up and pressed her palm to the side of his averted face, applying gentle pressure until he looked at her.  "Would that be an actual nothing, or a 'we'll talk about it when we're alone' nothing?"

He sighed and kissed her forehead.  "When we're alone," he promised wearily.

Buffy glanced over at her father and Drusilla, now cozily intertwined a few feet away.  "Of course, 'alone' may be a relative term right now," she muttered.  "And I do mean relative."  

* * * * *

To Be Continued


	3. Chapter 3

**Anam Cara**

**Part Three**

By Gem

"Well, this has certainly been an...unusual evening."

Buffy smiled uncertainly at her father, trying to decide if there was anger beneath his carefully chosen words.

"Things didn't go exactly according to plan," she hedged, nervously twisting a lock of hair between her fingers.  "I know we were going to go over to Mom's and talk after dinner, but I'm just so wiped from all my packing.  I really think," she glanced up at Angel as he manipulated the key in the door, "that is we really think it would be better to have Mom come over here tomorrow for brunch.  We can talk then."

"Talk about what is what I'd like to know," her father grumbled, waving her into the apartment before him.  "None of you will tell me.  I know your mother doesn't like the idea of you two moving in together, but since she knows I'm behind it...or at least not against it," he amended in the interests of honesty, "I can't see how she could believe a conference is going to help.  There has to be more to it than that, but what?"

"Hank, there are a lot of things we need to discuss," Angel said slowly, "but none of it needs to be said tonight."  He tossed the keys on the coffee table.  "Buffy is right; we need to get some sleep.  It will all seem clearer in the morning."

"Including why you two were so panic-stricken at the idea of me staying at a hotel?" Hank asked dryly.  "And yet you were only too anxious to tell your sister to get a room.  Are you afraid we'd get the same one?"

"No, of course not," Angel lied.  "You're an adult, she's an adult...it's really none of our business what you do together."

"And we so do not want to know, either," Buffy hastily added.  "Besides, that was a nice hotel that we checked her into.  The thing with her staying here is..." she glanced quickly at Angel for direction, but he seemed equally stumped for a good excuse.  "Umm, well, Dru is kind of a bad houseguest.  I know you wouldn't think it to look at her, but she honestly eats everything in sight, and she leaves the place a mess and we..."

"Don't want to deal with it anymore," Angel finished firmly.  "We've had enough."

"Oh yeah," Buffy said with feeling.  "And once you invite, I mean let, her in, you're kind of stuck with her."

As they spoke, Buffy was slowly herding her father towards the guestroom, Angel following close behind.

"I had no idea there was this kind of animosity between you two."  Hank's brow wrinkled with concern.  "From the way she talked, I thought you were a very close family."

Angel looked away as the past came creeping over the borders of his mind.  "We were," he admitted softly, "once upon a time.  A very long time ago."

Buffy anxiously stroked his arm, trying to recall him to the present and away from the painful shroud of the past.  "Dad, can we just do this in the a.m.?"  She gestured to the open bedroom door behind Hank.  "It's been a really long day, and you know I just finished finals, and you guys have been playing moving men the past few days and...we're all tired."

Hank hovered indecisively in the doorway to the guestroom.  "I guess we can pick things up then," he gave in grudgingly.  "But I would like some answers, some good answers for all this strange behavior tonight, young lady.  So start thinking them up tonight."  

Hank backed quickly into his room and closed the door, trying not to imagine what else his daughter would be spending the night doing. Sometimes he envied the fathers of old, who could marry their daughters off before having to worry about their futures, or their virtue.  It wasn't easy being a modern, liberal father...unless of course your only daughter was a nun.

* * * * *

Buffy firmly closed their bedroom door and leaned against it, effectively barring Angel's escape.  Not that she thought he had the energy to go over the wall; he looked drained, and suddenly much older.  

She had grown used to his smiles in the past few months, familiar with his quiet chuckle; she had almost reached the point where she accepted them as the norm.  Earlier tonight, when they were intertwined on the dance floor, she had basked in the warmth of his contentment, despite all the chaos that surrounded them.

But the Angel before her now was the man she remembered from the old days, when guilt and remorse threatened to overwhelm even his love for her.  

He frightened her.  And if there was one emotion a Slayer refused to accept, it was fear.

"Okay Angel, it's share-time," she said briskly, trying to disguise the quaver in her voice.  

"I thought it was bedtime."  He tried to raise the ghost of a smile, and Buffy wanted to weep for the effort she could see behind it.

"Later.  Something Dru said has you freaked, or maybe it's just that she was here to say it in person; I don't know.  So tell me."   She crossed her arms over her chest and prepared for the blow.

Angel wandered restlessly around the room, removing his watch and slowly slipping off his jacket as he tried to compose an answer.  It was never easy for him to put his feelings into words, and now he must try to boil down two and a half centuries of emotional dysfunction into things as simple as names and dates.  

"It's partly that she's here, I guess, and partly why she's here."  He paused in his ramblings long enough to capture Buffy's eyes with his own.  "She's here for your father, Buffy."

"Well duh."  Buffy snorted; this was not news to her.  "It's obvious she's latched on to him as part of some plan to..." her voice trailed off as she saw Angel slowly, sadly, shaking his head.

"He is the plan," he corrected her gently.  "Him for me.  Your father...for Dru's."

She drew a deep breath and tried to control her suddenly racing heartbeat.  "Okay, so now we know why she's here.  We'll call the others, we'll make plans, we'll do what we always do...which is win.  We will win, Angel; don't worry."  

She felt strange being the one to do the reassuring, especially about her father's safety, but Angel seemed to be devastated by the danger Dru presented.

Angel was on the move again, prowling around the bedroom like an animal inspecting the limits of his cage.  "We have to win, Buffy; that's not the issue.  It's just that...this is my fault. I made her what she is."

"No, he did."  Buffy swiftly crossed the room and grabbed Angel's arm, forcing him to stop pacing.  "We've been over this, Angel; just because you and your evil Siamese twin are joined at the memory engram does not make you responsible for what he did.  He killed Dru, not you."

"But I trained her, Buffy."  His voice was barely a whisper, yet the anguish rang through loud and clear.  "I guided her, and I praised her, and I encouraged her all the way, no matter what."  He paused, trying to find the words to convey the true measure of his shame.  "I was exactly the kind of 'father' that I always wanted to have, and this is the result."

"It wasn't you," she insisted. "As much as I love what you can do with this body, the truth is it's just a shell that the demon used to drive around town."  She clung to his arm with one hand and moved the other to his chest, flattening her palm to encompass the breadth of his heart.  "This is you, the real you."

He shook his head, stubbornly resisting the comfort she offered so freely.  "It's not that simple.  I know the demon is the one that killed her and her family.  I know that the demon is the one that turned her, and I'll even grant you that the demon is the one who taught her how to kill.  But he, it, whatever, was using my memories of my father, the remnants of my feelings about him.  He did it because I wanted it."  He wrenched free of her grasp and spun away; he couldn't face her right now.  

Suddenly old conversations began shuffling through Buffy's brain, words and phrases coming back with painful clarity and significance.

"You mean the demon used the problems you had with your dad against you, I mean her."

He dropped heavily on to the edge of the bed, still not looking at her.  "Pretty much," he agreed bleakly.  "All my life, when I was alive that is, I wanted to prove myself to my father.  First it was to be the son he wanted me to be, and then, when I finally realized that was never going to happen, I wanted to do him one better."

Buffy cautiously sat down next to him on the bed, but made no further moves to touch him just yet.  She wasn't sure he would accept her comfort, and to touch him and have him push her away...that she could not bear.

"Go on, Angel," she said steadily.  "I can take anything but lies."

"I wanted to be exactly the kind of son he thought I was, and then some.  It felt like the only control that I had over my own life...until Darla changed me." He laughed harshly and met her eyes at last.   "Suddenly I had the power."

"And you used it."  

This, at least, was familiar territory for her.  She knew what had happened to Angel's family and she accepted it.  There was nothing else to do but accept; it was done.

"I used it against him, and the rest of my family, but it still wasn't enough to show him up."  Angel paused for a moment.  "And then I found Dru."

"I don't understand."  

Buffy could hear how small her voice had become against the vastness of history and emotions he was spreading out before her.  She wanted to be there for Angel, as he had always been there for her, but she was suddenly beginning to realize the enormity of her task.

Angel looked away again, but before he did he reached out and clutched Buffy's hand.  The further into the ocean of his past he wandered, the more desperate his need for a lifeline.  

For Angel, that would always be Buffy.

"I wasn't exactly Mr. Introspective when I was human," he began, "and losing my soul didn't really improve the situation.  You know that I destroyed Dru's family, and her sanity, before she was turned.  At the time, I thought I was just doing it for...fun."  His hand tightened reflexively around Buffy's, and to his overwhelming gratitude, she did not try to remove it.  

"But I've had a lot of time to look back on it since then.  I needed to reduce her to nothing; take away everything that defined her so that she was completely mine to mold."  He drew a deep breath.  "I made her into the equivalent of an infant, so I could be the one to 'raise' her."

"Angel..."

"She calls me Daddy," he continued, desperate to complete his confession, "because that was what I made myself, so that I could prove I could do it better than my father."

"Oh wow."  

Buffy could think of little else to say.  He needed her reassurance; he needed it desperately, but what was the right thing to say?  Was she supposed to belittle his efforts to make him think he wasn't responsible, or tell him he did a great job...according to vampire lights?

Angel quirked his old sad half-smile at her.  "Exactly.  So, now that Dr. Frankenstein has done such a bang-up job of creating a monster, what's the encore?"

Buffy was shaken from her self-absorption by the bitter tone in his voice.  No matter what she said, it had to be better than silence; a silence he would interpret as condemnation.  

"I'm thinking that Kenneth Branagh killed the monster," she answered slowly.  She squeezed his hand as she rested her head against his shoulder.  "But can we skip the part where we sail away and get stuck on an iceberg?  It looked way too cold for this California girl."

"This isn't a joke, Buffy."

"I didn't say it was.  But we can't change what happened, and the why's don't matter anymore."  Buffy tried to keep her voice calm and level; she needed to talk Angel down.  "The past is beyond your control, honey, superpowers or not.  But I am not letting Dru exchange you for my dad like a wrong-sized sweater.  And I am not losing you to her, or to the scenic guilt trip she's trying to book you on.  I won't; end of discussion."  

Angel heard the determination in her tone, and the fear that lay beneath.  Too many times he had let his guilt come between them; no wonder Buffy dreaded Dru's effect on him more than the danger to her father.  Vampires she could face without a qualm, but the past had claws and teeth made all the more deadly for being invisible.

* * * * *

Hank paused outside of his daughter's bedroom door, his hand poised to knock.  He could hear voices inside, so he knew they were up, but he was a little leery of disturbing them.  Knowing that they were living together, even helping them to move in, was not the same as being confronted with the reality of it as a houseguest.  He could be walking into an intimate situation, and for all that he had come to like Angel, he wasn't sure if the phrase "Get your hands off my daughter!" wasn't a matter of paternal hard-wiring he would be helpless to suppress.

This was ridiculous; he knew that.  He was a grown man, afraid to confront his grown daughter for fear of having to face her being altogether too grown-up.  She has a right to live her own life, Hank reminded himself sternly.  And he had the right to sleep on a bed with little amenities such as a pillow and blankets, things the guestroom seemed to be sorely lacking.  He had a perfectly reasonable excuse; no, make that reason, to disturb them.

Still his hand hovered millimeters away from the door.

* * * * *

Buffy reluctantly lifted her head from Angel's shoulder.  "Did you hear something?"  Her eyes narrowed as she focused on the closed bedroom door.  "Something in the hallway, maybe?"

Angel had been too preoccupied to hear anything but his own thoughts, but he respected Buffy's keen senses.  "Could be your dad."  He frowned.  "Did we make up the guestroom yet?"

Buffy puzzled for a moment, debating the probabilities and whether they merited further investigation.  Investigation that would take her away, albeit briefly, from Angel's side.  

"Nah, he'd just knock if he needed something," she finally decided.  "And anyone else we know wouldn't bother to knock...so I must have been imagining things."  She laid her head back down on Angel's shoulder, and relaxed into the arm he slid around her waist.  "Too much coffee at the restaurant," was her final diagnosis.

"We didn't have to stay there so late," he reminded her gently.  "The idea was to go back to your mom's and play Truth and Consequences."

"Don't you mean Truth or...no, you probably don't."  She sighed, turning her head to press a kiss on the side of his neck.  "I know we should have gotten it over with, but there was no way to explain you and me without explaining your so-called sister too, and I don't think either of us was up for explaining her tonight.  For right now we're good; Dad is safe with us, and Mom is not about to invite his new girlfriend in for a late night cup of cocoa."  She paused.  "I think."

"So we wait for morning then."

"Hey, maybe we can ask Giles to bring some of his books for Dad tomorrow.  You know, for a little Slayer 101.  I'm sure once he sees this isn't just some trendy new Southern Cal invention, he'll be on board."  

Angel didn't say anything at first, but she could sense his skepticism.  She really couldn't blame him.  Even to a former cheerleader, that sounded a little too optimistic.

"I think we'd better tell your dad without an audience," Angel finally replied.   "It won't be easy for him to face all that he's been denying." He slipped his other arm around Buffy's waist, holding her firmly against his side as proof against his past and hers.  "Trust me on that one."

"I trust you on everything."  

The simple words shot deep into his soul.  They had been uttered not with coy charm or seductiveness, but only a devastating sincerity.  He looked into her eyes, and saw the best part of himself reflected back.  

"You make up for it all, you know," he said softly, his lips edging ever closer to hers.  "Everything that's been, and everything that's to come; you make it all worthwhile."

A slow smile spread across her face, not only at his words, but also at the lightening tone of his voice.  He had come close to the abyss tonight, yet together they had talked it through until the danger had passed.  There was still more talking yet to be done, but they were finally learning to make the words work for them instead of against them.

She slid her hand across his chest and around to his back, flattening herself against him as she slid onto his lap.  

"No, we make it worthwhile," she corrected him, proving her point with her lips until he could have no further doubts on the subject.

Suddenly Angel broke the kiss and stood up, still cradling Buffy in his arms.  "Dance with me," he whispered as he gently set her on her feet.

"What?"  

She couldn't help the low giggle that escaped her lips, any more than she could help the way her body melted against his.  Both were inevitable: like the tides, and the triumph of true love.

"Dance with me," Angel repeated, twining a length of her long blonde hair around his finger as he spoke.  "Tonight, when we were on that dance floor, you made everything else in the world disappear.  All I knew was the feeling of you in my arms."

She rose quickly to her toes, pressing a kiss on the side of his chin.  "But there isn't any music," she murmured against his cool skin.

He shook his head, still smiling tenderly at her.  "Your heartbeat is all the music I'll ever need."

Without further protest, she wound her arms around his waist and rested her head on his chest.  His hands glided up and down her back, starting small fires under her skin with his cool fingertips.  Slowly they moved as one around the bedroom, guided by a rhythm only lovers can hear.

* * * * *

Hank lowered his hand.  The voices had grown softer and less distinct, and then he heard a throaty feminine laugh.  

He quickly backed up.  

The man in Hank knew what that sound meant, and it made the parent in him want to run away whimpering.  No father should ever have to hear that laugh coming from his own daughter.

Suddenly blankets and a pillow seemed like a very bad idea.  They were things that went on a bed, and the last thing Hank Summers wanted to think about right now was a bed.

He couldn't go to sleep now; that much was obvious.  Maybe he could use the computer he'd noticed in the guest room.  He'd received e-mails from Buffy, so he knew that they were online.  That was it: he'd check his mail and then do a little harmless surfing to pass the time.  Nothing like the Internet to keep his mind off of sex.

A moment later, as his brain fully absorbed the puddle at the end of his stream of consciousness, the whimper got the best of him.

* * * * *

"Angel, did you hear..."

"No."

She sighed blissfully.  "Me either."

* * * * *

A single floor lamp glowed in the corner, softly illuminating the sofa, and casting the rest of the living room into the shadows. The only sound came from the page of a book being repeatedly turned, and then turned back again, as the reader attempted to make sense of a fictional world with no vampires, or demons, or Slayers.

Suddenly a knock disturbed the fragile serenity of the quiet living room.

Joyce put down her book and hurried to the door.  Few people stopped by the Summers house so late without good reason.  Few people in Sunnydale were actually out so late without good reason...or a death wish.  

She pulled open the door, fully expecting it to be Giles in search of Buffy, or perhaps 

Hank looking for a private conference.  Instead, she beheld literally the last person she was expecting to see that night.

"Drusilla, how on earth did you get here?"  Joyce poked her head outside, searching for Hank's car, or Angel's.  "I don't see a cab.  Goodness, did you walk here from the hotel?"

"It was such a lovely night.  The stars were calling to me."  

Too late Dru realized her error, but a quick glance reassured her that Joyce didn't know she'd meant that literally.  Thank the stars for feeble human hearing, she thought, and then giggled.

Joyce frowned.  "You really shouldn't be out by yourself, and on foot too; it's not safe."

"I know, and it's so terribly late as well.  I shouldn't have bothered you." Drusilla said in a rush.  She dropped her chin towards her chest, peering up at Joyce through her lashes.  "It's terribly rude, I know, but I just had to apologize.  I shouldn't have intruded on your lovely dinner tonight."

At the moment the only apology Joyce thought due from her unannounced guest was for this late night visit itself.  She was curious, though, to know what transgression the girl thought required forgiveness.  She was even more curious about the girl herself; who she really was, what her true relationship to Angel was, and exactly what she thought was awaiting her in a relationship with Hank Summers.

"You don't need to apologize for that; Hank invited you.  If anything we should be apologizing to you for it dragging you into a family quarrel."  Joyce's eyes narrowed slightly as she attempted some subtle prying.  "Of course since Angel is your family, I guess maybe it was your business too, wasn't it?"

Drusilla fought the urge to whine in frustration; this game was taking too long, and it just wasn't as much fun anymore.  She longed to snatch the nasty Slayer's nosy mother by her brittle blonde hair and sink her teeth right into that little freckle winking at her from the juncture of Joyce's shoulder and neck.  Now that would be fun.  One quick taste and then...and then all her plans would be ruined.  The demon within her abruptly recalled her ultimate goal, and enforced a suitably docile code of behavior.

"I didn't mean to cause any trouble."  

"You didn't, not at all."  

A sudden breeze rattled the leaves on the trees, and Joyce noticed Drusilla shiver in the aftermath.  Putting aside any doubts about a girl who apparently found both Hank and Angel irresistible, the mother in Joyce responded to a child in need.  She reached out to Drusilla as she said, "Please, won't you come in so we can talk?"

"What was that?"  Drusilla pivoted slightly on her heel, stepping away just before Joyce's hand touched her cold flesh.  "Oh, silly me, just a car door."  She turned back to Joyce with a tremulous smile.  "I really can't stay, but thank you so much for the invitation."

"Are you sure?  I was only reading a book; you won't be disturbing me at all.  And we can get to know each other a little better."  

"I really can't."  The regret in Drusilla's voice was almost palpable.  Her last decent meal had been simply hours ago.  "A friend of mine lent me his portable computer, and I must send him something, an e-mail I think they call it, to show that I'm trying to learn to use it."  She shook her head and laughed delicately.  "It will take me half the night."

"You must let me drive you back to the hotel at least," Joyce said firmly.  "You can't walk back; I won't allow it."

"If...if you insist."  You silly old cow, Drusilla continued silently.  

* * * * *

The morning sun shone weakly through the slightly streaky windowpanes, highlighting the dust motes in the air, and the scowl on Cordelia's face.

"Yes, yes, a thousand times yes," she snapped into the phone.  

"Words I've always dreamed of hearing you say to me."  Doyle couldn't resist teasing his ladylove as he walked into Cordelia's apartment, and the tail end of her conversation.

Cordelia glared at him over her shoulder, but continued speaking to her mysterious caller.  "I said I will, and I will, as long as you do what you promised.  Now go away.  I mean, stop calling."  She banged the phone down onto the desk without waiting for a reply.

"Are we getting obscene phone calls at," Doyle glanced at the clock on the mantel, "eight a.m. now?  A deviant who gets out of bed that early on a Sunday morning can't be all bad."  He grinned as he tossed Cordelia a bag of crullers and settled himself on the sofa, balancing the cardboard tray of coffee cups on a pile of magazines on the glass table in front of him.

"Yeah, and if it was that kind of creep, don't you think bed is exactly where he would be calling from?  That was Angel.  Again."  

She sat down next to Doyle, though not as close as he would have liked.  Deviants weren't the only ones who could get ideas at eight a.m.  

"So you told him about the package."  Doyle nodded his head at the small parcel on Cordelia's desk.  "Must have been some relief to him."  

He fiddled with the plastic lid on his coffee, at first attributing Cordelia's silence to a mouthful of cruller.  When he raised his head and discovered the bag still unopened on the cushion between them, he looked more closely at his goddess.

She was wincing slightly, presumably not at his choice of breakfast food.  Doyle wasn't quite sure whether to mark the expression as guilt or trepidation, but neither was a good sign.

"You did tell him, didn't you?"

She sighed gustily.  Better to get the shouting over with now, so she could enjoy her breakfast before the coffee got cold.

"No, I didn't tell him," she held up her hand to silence Doyle before he could protest, "because you and I both know he would have been brooding about it all day, and then as soon as it got dark he would have been driving back to get it."

"And that would be wrong because?"

"He can't leave Sunnydale right now.  I don't know exactly what's going on, because he couldn't tell me since Hank was sleeping in the next room, but..."

"Hank?" Doyle interrupted her.  "Buffy's dad was sleeping there?  What is he even doing in Sunnydale?"

"I don't know," she repeated carefully, a slight edge in her tone indicating Doyle should start paying closer attention.  "Angel said he'd call back later and explain, after they talked with Hank, but I don't want to wait."  

To that end, she opened the lid on her coffee and reached into the paper bag for a cruller.  Doyle seized her wrist, stopping her hand in mid-grope.

"Cordelia, me darlin', what is it that you're planning?"  

The words were soft, the tone beguiling, but his eyes meant business.  Cordelia bowed to the inevitable:  confession before crullers.

"We're going to Sunnydale ourselves, just as soon as you let me eat my breakfast."  She tugged her wrist free, abandoning half of said breakfast in the process.  "Great, now see what you made me do," she complained, waving the mangled pastry under his nose.

"Why do we need to go to Sunnydale?  So we can deliver a package Angel would have picked up himself if you hadn't lied to him? You, who gave me the grand lecture on lying, I might remind you."

She carefully placed the cruller on a napkin on her lap and met his eyes squarely for the first time that morning.  "He needs us there."  

"And did he say..."

"No he didn't say.  He couldn't say, and even if he could, he wouldn't say."  She smacked her forehead.  "Gee, thanks for making me sound like the Cat in the Hat."  Her fingers delicately explored her hairline.  "And for making me get powdered sugar in my hair."  This time it was Doyle's forehead she smacked.  

"Hey!" he yelped, more in surprise than pain.  "I'm just trying to find out what we're supposed to be rescuing the man from.  Are we talking garden-variety evil, or did the forces of darkness come up with something really clever this time?"

"Parents," she said flatly.  "In-laws, I guess would be a better word. I mean words. I mean...does the hyphen make it one word or two?"  She paused only long enough for Doyle to open his mouth before she barreled on ahead.  "No matter.  What I'm trying to say is that Buffy and Angel ended up staying there unexpectedly, and Hank showed up unexpectedly, and Joyce still doesn't like Angel...is any of this registering with you?"

"Aye.  You think Buffy's mum bushwhacked Angel, and he needs some back-up."

"He needs family."  The correction was swift and automatic, surprising even Cordelia.  "We're all he has, except Buffy of course, and right now she's what they're fighting over."

"And this wouldn't have anything at all to do with wanting to see what's in that package?"  He smirked at her, the more so when he caught the first signs of a blush creep across her cheeks.

"You and I both know what's in it, though I don't know why he's so all-fired anxious to have it right now."  She frowned at the puzzle, but then recalled herself to the subject at hand.  "Anyway, what I really want to see is audience reaction.  Especially Mommy Joycest."

"Not nice."  Doyle waggled his finger at her and tried to look stern.

"Not caring," she loftily informed him, reaching in to the bag to retrieve the remainder of her cruller.

"So the package just gives us an excuse to poke our noses in uninvited," he summarized.

"Doyle, if I have learned one thing the past few years of demon dodgeball, it's that you have to play to your strengths.  Ours is that, unlike a perfectly nice vampire we know, we don't have to be invited."

He decided to play his own trump card.  "You realize we'll have to close up shop for a few days.  No employees equals no new cases, and that means no money coming in."  He leaned back on the sofa and began to whistle, just waiting to see how long before Cordelia would cave.

Her triumphant hoot was not the reaction he was expecting.

"As if!"  She took a final bite of her cruller before she rose, and walked over to pick the phone up off of her desk.  "Watch and learn, my naive friend.  No clients may equal no money, but no employees just means you have to be creative."   

* * * * *

Angel couldn't help grinning, even after Cordelia rather abruptly ended their conversation.  He had known he risked her wrath by calling at such an hour, but a small part of him couldn't resist yanking her chain now and again.  By all rights, he could have blamed his behavior on the demon within him, but he was pretty sure it was more a matter of brotherly payback for the hair gel comments.  

As expected, Cordelia had not been any more receptive to an early morning phone call than the late night one, and she had let him know this in no uncertain terms.  Apparently the going rate for such sins was a new cappuccino maker for the office, since the current one was "defective."  Defective, of course, meaning even Cordelia couldn't stand her own coffee anymore.

Of far more concern to Angel than the expense of the call was lack of news she had for him.  No packages, big or small, arrived yesterday, and today was Sunday.  It was unlikely it would come to the office today, and every day he had to wait only added to his anxiety.  There were arrangements to be made, and he was too far away to make them, and he didn't even have the necessary ingredients for a back-up plan. 

And of course, any plans were subject to change by Drusilla, anyway.

The smile slowly faded from his face as the ramifications of last night began to sink in.  He had so much already invested in the next few days, but he couldn't afford to consider any of it until Dru was taken care of, and Hank was much the wiser in the ways of the real world.  Deep inside, he still held on to a tiny hope that Hank's education would not be at the expense of Dru's existence, but if it came down to a choice, he knew without fail where his loyalties lay.  

The sudden whir of the clock ticking off another lost minute brought him back from the future and reminded him of his present obligations.  Defending Buffy's father with his life was not the extent of his responsibility; there was also breakfast to consider.

Angel padded quietly through the living room to the kitchen, careful not to make any unnecessary noise that might disturb their guest.  Before he could make any plans for the future, romantic or battle, he had to make the coffee.  He wasn't sure about Hank's early morning persona, but Hank's daughter qualified as an unexploded missile before her daily caffeine infusion.  

Everything appeared to be in good order in the kitchen when he flicked on the light; all the dishes were put away; the food, such as it was, was stacked in the pantry; the chairs were all tidily arranged around the cherry table.  The only sign of a human presence was the small square of paper trapped beneath the edge of the sugar bowl.

Angel crossed the room and picked up the note, trying to quell the feeling of dread clenching his gut.  He knew it couldn't be from Buffy; he had left her sleeping soundly in the bedroom not ten minutes ago.  That only left Hank.

He had barely opened the note before the doorbell chimed.  

* * * * *

To Be Continued


	4. Chapter 4

**Anam Cara**

**Part Four**

By Gem

"Buffy, wake up."

"Mmmm."

"Buffy."  Angel shook her shoulder a little harder, yet still took care not to be too rough.  He needed her awake, but not if it meant she came up swinging. 

"Buffy. Sweetheart. You have to wake up."

The pillow she dragged over her head was not a good sign, but two could play at that game.  He pulled the pillow back, fighting her for control of the pillowcase.

"Buffy, your mother is waiting in the living room and your father is gone."

She released the pillow so quickly Angel nearly lost his balance.  An instant later she was sitting bolt upright in bed, frighteningly awake and alert.

"What do you mean my father is gone?  Gone where?"

He held out the note to her.  "The good news is that it has nothing to do with Dru."

She read the note quickly before crumpling it and tossing it in the trash.  "Business," she said flatly.  "Color me stunned."

Angel gingerly sat on the edge of the bed next to her.  "Buffy, your mom called him away from his work on really short notice, and he came.  To plan your wedding, he thought."

"And when he found out it wasn't..."

"And when he checked his e-mail," he corrected her, "he found out there was a problem he needed to resolve quickly."  He gestured to the crumpled ball of paper in the trashcan.  "He said he'd be back by this afternoon."

"And he always keeps his promises," she said bitterly.

"He's trying, Buffy.  It's not easy for him either."  He slid his arms around her, resting his cheek lightly on the top of her head.  "I'm sorry," he murmured into her hair.

Buffy buried her face in his shoulder, breathing in the reassuring scent of him, relishing the feel of his arms firmly anchoring her to her future.  This was home, right here with Angel.  It didn't matter what her father did, or what her mother said, or...her mother.  

"Angel, you said Mom was already here?"  She raised her head and flung a wild-eyed glance at him before she scrambled out of bed.  "What is she doing here so early?  God, it's like the crack of dawn or something."

"Otherwise known as half-past eight," he said dryly.

"And the difference would be?"  She didn't wait for an answer, but continued to talk as she darted into the walk-in closet.  "She doesn't do early, at least not on week-ends.  Where did you think I got the sleeping in thing from, my workaholic father?"  

She held up a blouse for his inspection, and then abruptly tossed it back into the closet before he could speak.  Angel slid back on the bed, propping himself up against the headboard as he watched her flit around the room pulling together an ensemble for the day.

"She said that she and your dad agreed about the time last night, obviously before he had a chance to check his e-mail."

Buffy lifted her head from the dresser drawer she was now pawing through.  "I told you that computer was evil.  But no, you had to let it in our house."

Angel shrugged, trying to suppress a grin at her indignant tone.  For all that he was the one from another century, he still had an easier time dealing with the computer age than his normally au courant girlfriend did.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"And now the time is zero-dark-thirty and we're stuck with an angry mom and an absentee dad."  Buffy flung yet another tank top back into her drawer.  "Swell.  Let's all gather round the fire for another dramatic rendition of Buffy's childhood."

Angel was off the bed and wrapped around her in an instant, all thoughts of teasing instantly banished by the sight of Buffy's distress.  "He will be back and she will calm down.  And we will get through this."  

Buffy closed her eyes and concentrated on happy thoughts.  Angel. The new house.  The hot tub in the new house.  Angel in the hot tub in the new...she opened her eyes, feeling once again centered and sustained, if somewhat flushed.

"We will," she agreed, catching the breath that always seemed to elude her in his presence.  "Especially if we only panic in turns, which is what we seem to be doing."

"Works for me."

Hearing Angel's husky voice, feeling the solidity of his arms around her gave Buffy the tiny patch of peace she so desperately needed.  He was, as always, the fixed point in her chaotic universe.  She beamed at him and tilted her head up to kiss his chin.  Another kiss followed, this one slightly higher up his jaw, and then she began to cross the plane of his cheek.

"Buffy Summers, are you ever going to get up?"

Buffy groaned as her mother's voice penetrated the solid wood of the door.  "Kissus interruptus." 

"I'll save your place," he promised with a smile.  "But for right now, I'm going to go out and see if the coffee is done yet, and you need to finish getting dressed.  Don't take too long, though; I'm not sure how long I can keep your mother amused without resorting to falling on Mr. Pointy."

"No Mr. Pointy," she lectured him with mock solemnity.  "The vacuum cleaner is broken, and I am not letting Mom track you all over the carpet."

"You're all heart."  He turned to open the door.  "Now get a move on."

"Angel."  

Buffy's voice had a lost quality to it that stopped him dead in his tracks.  He spun around to face her, ready to offer whatever comfort she required.

"Do you really think he's okay?"

She didn't need to be more specific; the same thoughts had crossed Angel's mind.  He nodded his head slowly, holding fast to her eyes with his own.

"Yeah, I do.  She's as trapped by sunlight as I am, and she's not going to do anything unless she has a good escape route."  He paused for a moment before offering the less comforting arguments.  "Besides, she doesn't want him to come to her; that's too easy.  She wants him to bring her to us."

Buffy frowned as she pondered his explanation.  It all seemed too complex to be effective, and also a bit beyond Drusilla's metal capacities. 

"Are you sure?" she asked doubtfully.

A quick sad smile darted across Angel's face.  "It's what I would have done."

* * * * *

The tap-tap-tap was starting to get on Drusilla's nerves.

It had seemed innocent enough at first, almost soothing in its rhythm.  But as it droned on and on, punctuated only by little beeps and clicks, she began to resent the assault on her eardrums.  It seemed to be getting louder and more insistent, as though it was deliberately trying to annoy her.  As though it wanted to distract her and ruin all of her lovely plans just when she was so close.

So very close to throwing that wretched little box out of the window if the noise didn't stop this instant.

The demon within Drusilla surged to the forefront, coldly assessing the situation and deeming the time not yet ripe for action.  With a regretful sigh, the demon began to gather up the tattered remnants of personality it had been forced to work with these past 140 years.  Insanity could be a lovely little game, but right now it was a luxury that a demon with a plan could ill afford.  Later, when the die was cast and the dying had commenced, it would be time to explore the more colorful aspects of dementia.

For now, Drusilla must appear as calm and serene as Miss Edith at the Queen's tea party.

"You really are too good to me, Hank," she cooed. "And after I broke your lovely little computer too."  Drusilla leaned over Hank Summers' shoulder, trying to look entranced as she watched him type various incomprehensible words and phrases into his nasty, noisy toy.

Hank stopped typing long enough to smile up at her.  "It's not broken, just a little bit bent, and it wasn't your fault.  I never should have tried to teach you about deleting files without being there to walk you through it the first few times."  He returned his attention to his ailing laptop.

"I thought I could do it properly, and then I would make you proud of me.  But it gave me some very nasty message and started beeping at me and..."  She sighed, trying to sound regretful.  "I'm such a goose about these things.  All the cords and things to plug in; it's simply too much for me."  A barrage of fluttering gestures in the air created visions of endless electronic gadgets, all aimed at her delicate psyche.  "But it was so sweet of you to let me try with your new toy...and then to come help me when I've made a proper mess of it.  I feel so bad about taking you away from your daughter, though.  And at such an hour!  I never imagined you would get my message tonight."

Not imagined, that much was true.  You didn't have to imagine what you knew would happen, and Dru knew the silly boy would sooner die than go a day without checking his "mail."

Of course he could always do both.

Her spontaneous, and apparently unprovoked, giggle made Hank turn around abruptly in his chair, but all was calm by the time she met his eyes.  He started to ask a question, and then thought better of it.  Shaking his head, he focused his attention once more on the computer.

"I'm just glad I checked my mail before I went to...before I turned in."  Hank sat back, watching the scrolling screen with satisfaction.  "Well, it took a few hours there, but I think I retrieved everything.  I'm only sorry I kept you up all night while I worked.  If it weren't for the templates I stored on it...I just couldn't lose all that work."  He clicked a few more keys to verify that everything was in its proper place and then began to shut the computer down.  "I tell you what.  Since we have both been up most of the night, why don't I treat you to breakfast?"

Drusilla glanced at the windows, still covered by heavy drapes.  "Breakfast?  Outside the hotel?"

"Anywhere your heart desires," he replied with a grandiose sweep of his arm.  "I wasn't sure how long this would take, so I told Buffy I wouldn't be back until this afternoon."  

"I really shouldn't keep you," Dru said demurely.

"I insist.  You grab your purse and a jacket and we'll be off."  He closed the laptop and stood up, pulling his jacket off the back of the chair as he came around the side of it.  "There must be an all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet somewhere in this town, right?"

She smiled widely at him.  He really was too delicious for words; so commanding...and yet so completely unaware of the world he thought he had under his control.

"It wouldn't be very polite of me to refuse if you insist, would it?"  She patted his arm.  "Let me just finish getting ready to be seen in the light of day."

"You look perfect," he protested.  His stomach rumbled quietly, forcing a bust of embarrassed laughter.  "And I don't know if I can make it until you actually find some flaw that requires fixing."

"Dear man.  I simply want to put on some jewelry."  Drusilla reverently opened a small wooden box on the nightstand and pulled out an antique golden necklace.  She dangled it in the air to show it off before draping it around her neck and fastening it.  "This is my very best necklace, and I refuse to shame you by not wearing it when you take me out."

Hank admired the way the ornate strand of darkened gold and the small greenish gem at its center accented Drusilla's milky throat.  She really was a beautiful young woman, though what she was doing spending so much of her free time with him, he didn't know.  He was just grateful for the experience.

"I'm the one who should worry about shaming you," he said quietly.  "But for now I'm going to do my best to make you glad you're here with me."

"Oh I am, my very own Prince Charming."  Dru didn't have to lie on that point; she hadn't been so glad about anything in a very long time as Hank's unquestioning presence at her side. "Now let's go find that rumbly tummy of yours some food." With a reassuring pat to the necklace at her throat, she looped her arm through Hank's.

His attentive gaze remained fixed on the long smooth column of her throat; such an impossibly pale expanse of flesh, not even colored with the delicate tracing of blood vessels beneath the surface.

"You're staring," she accused him with a girlish laugh.

"It's...it's your necklace," he stammered.

"You've seen it before," she purred, stroking his arm.

"Yes, well, it, uh, it just goes so well with what you're wearing today and..." Hank forced himself to stop the schoolboy stammer.  "It's lovely," he said with painful sincerity.  "Almost as lovely as you."

"You are too sweet to me."  Dru caressed the necklace with one languorous hand.  "But you are right about my treasure. It is pretty."  Her voice assumed a faraway tone.  "It belonged to my great-grandmum, along with a ring. Angel was given the ring and he lost it." She pouted briefly for effect.  "But I'm very careful with my precious things.  Great-Grandmother Amara would never forgive me if I lost her special necklace."

* * * * *

Buffy cautiously slipped out of the bedroom and into the hallway, listening intently for noise coming from the living room.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

A thousand possibilities began to stream through her imagination, an imagination already primed by Fate to see the worst-case scenario. Maybe her mother had snuck up on Angel and staked him in the back, and then fled the scene of the crime.  Maybe Angel had tired of her mother's constant haranguing and bound and gagged her.  Maybe Drusilla had slipped into the apartment, uninvited and in the full light of day, and killed them both.

The possibility of them sitting in companionable, or at least non-combative, silence seemed too ridiculous to even contemplate.

Curiosity, tinged with anxiety, drew her into the living room, only to find it empty.  Her quick ears caught the sound of voices in the kitchen, however, and she was compelled to follow.

Nothing had prepared her for the sight that met her eyes when she paused in the doorway.

Joyce was sitting at the table, nibbling on a cinnamon bun left over from the previous morning.  A mug of steaming coffee rested next to her right hand, between her plate and an empty place setting.  Angel was talking, mostly to himself, as he opened cupboards and jotted down notes on a small piece of paper on the counter.

"Morning," Buffy said, forcing herself to saunter casually into the room.  If they could play it cool, who was she to rock the boat?  "Sorry I took so long in the shower. Any coffee left for me?"  

"Plenty," Angel answered quickly, pulling the pot from the warmer and crossing over to fill the empty mug on the table.  He pulled out a chair for her with his other hand, nodding his head at the cinnamon roll in Joyce's hand.  "We still have some rolls left, if you think you're awake enough to taste them."

"Oh, yeah, like you're usually Farmer Brown Awake With The Chickens," she jeered, smothering a yawn with a wide-stretched hand.  "Just for that I might ask you to make me eggs benedict or bacon, or something else hard to cook."

"We don't have anything else," he pointed out, waving his list at her.  

"Good morning, Buffy," Joyce said quietly, jumping in to the momentary pause in the conversation.  "Did you sleep...never mind."  Joyce's mind closed down when she realized that when her daughter slept, well or not, it was in the bed of this man.

Angel was also embarrassed by the turn of Joyce's comments.  He slid the coffeepot back onto the warmer and secured the grocery list under a glass by the sink.  "I think I'll just go call the others and then jump in the shower before they get here."

Buffy nodded glumly.  "No point in waiting until this afternoon, since Dad has flown the coop."

"He'll be back."  His hand dropped down lightly on her shoulder, and she reached up to catch it between her own.  "Meanwhile, we need to give them the heads up."

She twisted around in her chair to smile up at him.  "Make Xander bring doughnuts, okay?  Jelly preferably.  And tell him not to start eating them in the car."

"I'll tell, but making him obey is something else."  After a swift kiss on her forehead, he was gone, leaving Buffy alone to make conversation with her strangely quiet mother.

"So," she said weakly, "good cinnamon rolls, huh?  We got them at a little bakery on..."

"It's strange," Joyce mused, almost to herself, "seeing you two together."

"Mom, don't start," Buffy warned.  She took a fortifying dose of caffeine before she continued.  "You'll have lots of time for this when Dad gets back; I'd rather stick to food and weather talk until then.  No Angel-bashing."

"I'm not...that's not exactly what I meant," Joyce protested.  "I've hardly ever seen you with him, that's all.  When you were dating him in high school, you hid him.  And since you got back together, you've been avoiding me.  Last night was the first time I've ever seen you two really together as a couple, and then this morning..."

Buffy felt the faint stirrings of hope deep within her.  Perhaps Joyce's attitude could be softened with something as simple as the three of them spending time together.  Maybe all she needed was to see how good Angel was for Buffy and then she would be as happy for them as they were for themselves.

"It's strange for any mother to see her daughter like that, but knowing what he is..."

"And we're back," Buffy groaned, putting down her coffee mug.  "For a minute I thought you were actually seeing him as a real person, but I guess I should have known better."

Joyce looked at her in confusion.  "I can't help what I feel, Buffy."

"And neither can I."  She sighed heavily.  "This is always where we hit the wall, Mom.  You can't see that this isn't some schoolgirl romance, and I don't understand why you can't see me as an adult making adult decisions."

"Honey, you have so many choices out there and..."

"And this isn't one of them," Buffy said firmly.  "Angel and I didn't choose to fall in love, and for a while we even tried to stop it, but we couldn't.  And I am beyond grateful that we couldn't.  I don't want to think what my life would be like without him."

Suddenly an image rose in Joyce's mind: Buffy, last night, on the dance floor with Angel.  He had looked ill at ease when she first joined him, and Buffy had been frowning.  But a few minutes later, as they slowly swayed to the music and drifted off into their own little world, Joyce could almost see the tension between them dissolve like the morning mist.  Her daughter was smiling, and laughing and apparently totally relaxed.  To Joyce's utter astonishment, her daughter's morose boyfriend seemed equally content.  If it were anyone else, Joyce would have said Angel was...happy.

Angel had been happy, and the world hadn't ended.  His being happy seemed to add to Buffy's happiness.  It went against everything Joyce believed.  It was enough to shake her conviction in her own position...until Joyce recalled herself at age 19.

She and a tall blond man named Hank Summers; the man she couldn't have pictured her life without, until it actually happened.  But she survived, and so could Buffy.

If her daughter survived to survive, that is.

"Maybe you can't help your feelings, but you don't have to act on them," Joyce insisted, her thoughts turning to the present with a vengeance.  "Living with him, committing your life to him; that is a choice."

"And I made it a long time ago."

"You were too young then; you're still too young.  There are so many things you can do with your life, so many things you can have, but not if you tie yourself down to this man and his crazy demon-hunting.  He's going to get you killed one of these days."

"Is that what this is all about?  You think Angel is what keeps me slaying?"  Buffy stared at her mother in shock.  "It's my job, Mom. Remember?  Sacred destiny at a bargain basement price."

"This is his world, his kind of...of people," Joyce sputtered.  "Demons and monsters and ghosts and all that sort of thing.  They're not real, not for people like us."

"I see. So the hellmouth under my high school was just a coincidence?  And all the vamps at my old school were actually imaginary."

Joyce opened her mouth to protest, but Buffy was warming to her subject.

"But the Sunnydale vampires, now they are all Angel's doing," she said.  "And FrankenTed?  Well that was obviously his fault, never mind that he never even met the guy.  Oh wait, let's not forget when you tried to burn me at the stake because you thought I was a witch.  That was somehow Angel's fault too, right?" 

As opposed to the impression Joyce had formerly given off, namely that most of this was Buffy's fault, or at least her choosing.

Her mother nodded reluctantly, sensing the trap she had laid for herself.

"Because witches are 'his kind of people,' just like the demons and the ghosts?"  

"Yes!" The dam burst.  "On some level, yes."

"So basically you're saying Willow is the perfect girl for Angel. Well sorry, but he's not up for grabs." Buffy clenched her fists around her coffee mug, and then forced herself to release it before she shattered the thick ceramic shell.  "This is crazy, Mom. I slay vampires because that's what I am, who I am, not because that's what Angel wants me to be.  If anything, he should blame me for dragging him into the business."

"But last fall you were dating that nice Riley Finn and you were doing all the things you wanted to do in high school; all the things we talked about you doing when you went to college."  Joyce leaned over and took her daughter's stiff hand in her own.  "You went to parties instead of patrolling all the time, and you actually studied, and you acted like a normal college girl with a nice normal boyfriend.  Now are you going to tell me that had nothing to do with Angel not being in your life?"  

"No, I'm not, because it did."  How could she make her mother understand?  "Mom, when Angel left he took a huge part of me with him; I didn't know who I was or what I wanted anymore.  But Riley came with built-in specs.  He was a T.A., so I knew I should be a good student.  He was a fraternity guy; hence the parties.  And even though he fought demons too, for him it was more like a hobby, so that's what I made it for me.  It was something to do on a date before sex, like other people go to a movie."

Her mother closed her eyes and shook her head.  "I don't need to hear all the details, Buffy."  Drawing a deep breath, she opened her eyes wide and focused her attention on the future.  "All I know is everything you're describing is what you always said you wanted."

"And exactly what you wanted for me."

"Yes," Joyce said, relief coloring the simple word in brilliant hues.  Finally Buffy understood.

"I was Surf 'n' Slay Barbie," Buffy said sharply, "complete with matching Ken doll.  But it wasn't me, and I hated it.  I hated me."  She firmly withdrew her hand from her mother's grasp.

"You were happy," Joyce insisted.  "You were smiling every time I saw you."

"You did a lot of smiling after Dad moved out.  Were you really that happy, Mom; or were you trying to put on a good show for the crowd?"

Angel stuck his head around the corner of the kitchen archway before a stunned Joyce could muster an answer.

"I got hold of everyone. They'll be here in an hour or so.  With doughnuts."

Buffy turned away from her silent mother.  "Perfect.  Thanks for calling them."

She sounded calm enough, but Angel could sense the troubled undercurrents in the room.  He stepped into the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe with a deceptively casual air.  "Is everything okay?  I can call them back and..."

Buffy held up her hand to stop him.  "No, we need them.  Everything is fine here.  We put the 'boo' in tickety-boo."

Her smile seemed bright, but it didn't fool Angel for an instant.  He cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Now why do I find that hard to believe?"

Buffy's forced cheer wilted into a grimace as she wrestled with the wisdom of sharing her mother's latest objections with Angel while Joyce was still here to see his reaction.  The last thing her mother needed by way of encouragement was the knowledge that she had drawn blood.

On the other hand, not telling Angel immediately lent Joyce's ideas more value than they deserved, and might hurt him more in the long run.  Surely even Angel in high guilt-gear couldn't possibly believe her mother's wild-eyed theories.

Finally Buffy rolled her eyes and resigned herself to the lesser of two evils.  "My mother, in her infinite paranoia, now thinks that you are the reason I'm the Slayer."

She watched him carefully, but he seemed more confused than hurt.

"I've done a lot of things in my life, Joyce, and most of them I wish I could deny.  But I can honestly say I had no part in Buffy being Called.  It doesn't work that way."

"I didn't say that," Joyce protested, quashing the little voice in her head that was fervently agreeing with her daughter.  "I said Buffy wouldn't still be slaying if it weren't for you.  She would have moved on."

"To another plane of existence.  If it weren't for Angel I would have died four years ago, Mom." Buffy smiled, genuinely this time, at Angel listening patiently from the doorway. "He didn't make me the Slayer, and he doesn't make me keep on being the Slayer, but he does make sure I get to make the decision on a daily basis."  A heavy sigh broke through the walls she was trying so hard to hold erect.  "Now, any other little poison darts you want to toss before company comes?"

Joyce drew a shaky breath.  "I think we'd better wait for your dad for the rest of it."  She pushed her chair back and started to stand up.  "Why are your friends coming over so early?  Don't demons observe a day of rest too?"

Buffy winced as she too rose and walked over to dump out the remainder of her cooling coffee.  "Actually, there's something we need to talk about, and it concerns Dad's new little friend."  

"Buffy, do you want me to explain things to her?" Angel asked, crossing in front of Joyce to stand by his lover.

She rested her hands flat on the countertop and bowed her head, reaching inside of herself for the reserves of strength Angel insisted she had. They felt a little tapped at the moment, but she took what she could before facing her mother again.  "No, I think I better handle this one by myself.  And Mom, maybe you should sit down."

* * * * *

"She's a vampire?"

"Mom, that is like the fourth time you've said that," Buffy protested as she threw herself down on the sofa.  "Strangely enough, the answer has not changed in the last ten minutes. Yes, Drusilla is a vampire, and not the fluffy bunny kind like Angel, either."  She frowned, and then amended her description.  "Well, actually she is, if you're talking about that rabbit in that Monty Python movie.  You remember, the one under the bridge with the fangs and the...never mind."  Buffy drew a deep breath and tried again.  "She's a demon.  She's evil.  She's psycho.  And she's Dad's newest mid-life crisis.  Are we clear on the problem now?"

Buffy watched her mother pace, as she had been watching her pace since they left the kitchen.  At this rate Joyce had walked off not only this morning's cinnamon roll, but last night's steak to boot.  Yet she still didn't seem to understand what Buffy was trying to tell her.

"Her name...it sounded so familiar.  But I don't remember the face.  Did I ever meet her when she had...you know?"  Joyce pointed two fingers in a downward 'V' in front of her teeth, trying to mime fangs.

"You mean when she was a walrus?  Not that I know of.  Or in vamp face either, if that's what you were trying to ask."  Buffy couldn't suppress a snicker. "God, no wonder Dad always refused to play charades at your parties."

"Young lady..."

Buffy hurriedly returned to the subject; time was running out. "But you were always letting that loser Spike cry in your cocoa over his ex, who would be Dru."

Joyce blinked repeatedly as she tried to process this new piece of information.  "She was the girl, I mean vampire, that Spike was always talking about?  But why did she choose your father now?  Does he know what she is?"  

"No, he doesn't; not yet.  We're going to tell him when we tell him everything else."  Buffy paused, trying to find a way to answer her mother without telling a lie or the exact truth.  "As for why she wants Dad, well, she has kind of a father fixation."

"And he's supposed to be the pick of the litter?"  Joyce didn't even try to suppress her disbelief.

"For a vampire, the father of the Slayer isn't too shabby."  There, that was close to the truth, yet in no way involved Angel.  It was also as much as Buffy was willing to reveal until her mother started behaving like a reasonable person instead of the founder of M.O.O.

"Why on earth didn't you tell me this last night?"

_Oh swell_, Buffy sighed to herself, _now Mom's back on the 'you never tell me anything' riff.  This day just got better and better_.

"You mean in front of Dad, or in front of Dru?  One or the other of them was always around.  Besides, she's not after you.  Daddy's Little Girl doesn't admit mommy even exists.  Too much competition."

"I just can't believe this," Joyce sighed.  "It never ends.  You have been killing these vampires for four years now and there are just as many as there ever were.  And now they know where you live, and who your friends are, and the perfect way to get to you."  She finally came to rest in front of an oversized wingback chair, dropping wearily into its shelter.

"Gee, thanks for making this all out to be my fault," Buffy snapped.  "I was running a little low on guilt today, so it was really thoughtful of you to shop for me."

"Honey, I didn't mean it like that," Joyce protested.  She ran a hand through her short blonde hair, trying to remember exactly how many times she had uttered that same phrase in the past four years.  It seemed like a million.  "I just meant that this is too much to expect you to handle.  You're 19 years old.  You should be concentrating on school and your friends and what type of career you want.  You shouldn't have these kind of responsibilities dropped in your lap."

"Mom..."

"Responsibilities are given to those strong enough to bear them," said Angel from the hallway.  "Buffy was Chosen because she has the courage to face the darkness, with or without her Slayer powers.  And part of that strength comes from the way she was raised.  You should be proud."

Buffy turned her head to smile at him as she patted the sofa cushion next to her.  Finally someone who was always on her side.  Even when she wasn't sure what her side was.  

"My hero.  Come join the party, smooth talker.  I was trying to explain Dru to Mom, before we got sidetracked into a 'why Buffy shouldn't slay' discussion."

"The others will be here soon," he reminded her.  "Maybe we should wait on the rest until we can explain to everyone at once."  He sat down next to Buffy, unthinkingly sliding his arm around her shoulders.  He realized what he had done a moment later, when he saw Joyce stiffen slightly, but his beloved was already settling in against his side.  Joyce's discomfort made a poor argument against Buffy's contentment, so the arm stayed where it was.

"What else is there to explain anyway?"  Joyce made an effort to tear her mind, and her eyes, away from the image of Angel and her daughter cuddling on the sofa.  "She's a vampire, and you kill vampires.  I can see why you would want to warn your father first before you stake her, but other than that..."

Buffy glanced quickly at Angel, reading the distress in his dark eyes, though his face was carefully blank.  "It's a little more complicated than that, Mom.  She's not exactly an ordinary vampire.  I told you, she's crazy."

"She's not exactly..." Angel began, only to be interrupted by the doorbell.  He shared a puzzled frown with Buffy.  "Who do we know that uses the bell?"

A rattling of the doorknob commenced before she could answer, followed by a loud voice calling, "Okay, stop waxing the old surfboard and put some clothes on, people.  Company's here."

Buffy stiffened beneath Angel's arm.  She offered Joyce a strained smile as she murmured, "Excuse me for just one second."

She was off the sofa and across the room before Angel could catch her.  The door swung wide and hit the wall from the force of her touch, inspiring the visitors assembled on the other side all to take a step backwards.  "If 'company' doesn't shut its' collective mouth in front of my mother," she hissed, "then  'company' is going to require reconstructive surgery."  

Xander meekly held out a brightly colored cardboard box.  "I saved you a jelly."

* * * * *

The Scoobies were scattered around the living room, some, such as Giles, on chairs, but most on the floor.  An open, almost empty box of doughnuts lay in the center of the coffee table, next to a cluttered collection of coffee mugs and napkins.  To Angel it looked like a normal Sunday morning gathering of old friends, the kind he had seen on TV when Buffy forced him to watch it with her.

"So what's the big?  A quick one-two with the old stake-er-rooney and pow!  Drusilla's carpet lint and Buffy's the man.  Figuratively speaking."

Well, perhaps it wasn't quite like those shows that Buffy watched...except for the enormous coffee mugs.

"Xander, it's more complicated than that and you know it," Buffy sighed.  "If she actually tries to hurt my dad, well, sure, 'pow' it is, but otherwise..."

"There is no otherwise this time, love," Angel said grimly, pushing aside any further idle comparisons of real life vs. television.  He pulled Buffy's hand over to his lap and gripped it tightly for strength.  "She will try to kill him, and we have to be ready to kill her.  She knew what she was doing when doing when she came here, and she knew how it would end."

And maybe if he kept repeating that to himself, he'd come to believe it too.

"Pardon me for asking, but does she actually ever know what she's doing?"  Xander looked skeptical.  "I mean, that chick has had so many brain cells hit the bug light it must have looked like the Fourth of July when you kil...oww!"  He rolled on his side and rubbed his ribcage, glaring up at Buffy with wounded eyes.  "What was that about?"

"I just don't think we need to be talking about Dru's mental state," she said stiffly.

"Or lack thereof," Willow said darkly.

"She's not really crazy," Angel said, glancing sharply at Buffy.  He knew she was hiding something, but he also sensed that now was not the time to go trawling for details.  "She never was.  When the demon takes over the body, it takes the personality traits it thinks will be the most useful, or most entertaining, and sort of runs with them."  He painfully suppressed memories of the traits his own demon found most amusing, choosing instead to focus on the problem at hand.  "With Dru, there wasn't much left to work with, but I think the demon preferred it that way. Being crazy gets her attention."

"It got mine, that's for sure," Xander muttered, remembering a certain Valentine's Day.

"So she's not crazy." Oz shrugged, accepting the idea at the same time he dismissed its importance.  "Evil seems to be working just fine for her."

"You mean all the stuff Spike told us about the doll tea parties and everything was just for show?" Willow wasn't quite ready to give up long accepted party line.  "Seems like a lot of trouble to go to just to impress another vampire.  No offense intended," she added hastily.

Angel chuckled, much to Willow's relief.  "None taken.  And it wasn't so much to impress Spike as...well that was the type of girl he was used to, that we were all used to back then.  Very old-fashioned, very childlike and dependent."  He scratched his head and grinned ruefully.  "I found it pretty annoying, to tell you the truth, but for Spike it was a turn-on; and that kept him right where Dru wanted him."

"Speaking of Bleach Boy; what do we tell him about his favorite little serial killer if you stake her before he gets back from sunny Spain?"

"If it's all that sunny, you don't have to worry about him coming back."  Oz always tried to look on the practical side; it kept the stress to a minimum.

"We'll deal with Spike when the time comes. We don't owe him anything, least of all my dad's life in exchange for Drusilla's."  There was only one vampire's well being that concerned Buffy, and it definitely wasn't Spike's.  "Look, we didn't call you guys over to brainstorm for plans this time.  We will take care of Dru.  We just wanted you to be on your guard."

"But why?"  Anya looked surprised. "She wouldn't want any of us.  She wants to punish Angel, and we mean nothing to him."

"That's not true," Angel automatically protested.  "I care about all of you."

"As in you don't want us to die horrible bloody deaths any more than you want anyone else to, but basically Anya is right."  Willow smiled apologetically at her best friend's boyfriend.   "We're not the ones in danger, so we can help without you having to worry about us."

"That's not what I meant," Anya said quickly.  She frantically tapped on Xander's shoulder as he rested against her knee.  "Xander, tell them that's not what I meant."

"It doesn't matter what you meant, Anya," Buffy patiently explained.  "Angel and I are handling this one.  Alone.  We've actually gotten pretty good at the Demonic Duo stuff."

"Yeah, but who wears the tights in the family?" Xander said under his breath.

"I heard that," Angel growled.

"Hey, wouldn't 'demonic duo' mean you're both demons?" Oz's forehead wrinkled as he worked through his syntax issues.  "Not that I object to the use of creative metaphors, but only one of you is playing with a full demon."

"And just what kind of crack is that?" Anya asked stiffly, shifting her ire to Oz in place of the unresponsive Xander.  "I know what you people think of me now that I'm no better than you, but I don't happen to need my inner demon. I can function perfectly well as a mortal now.  And don't think I can't cast spells anymore either.  How would you like to spend this full moon as a were-toad?"

"A were..."

Oz gave the proposition due consideration.  "Might be kind of cool, actually," he finally pronounced.  "Toads don't have to be good swimmers, right?"

"A were-what?" Joyce asked again, this time slightly louder.  Somehow she had lost the thread of the conversation, or at least she hoped so.

Willow glanced quickly at Buffy, who shrugged helplessly.  "She was so hung up on Angel being a vampire we, umm, never got around to discussing your love life," the Slayer apologized.  "Or Xander's for that matter."

"Swell," Willow grumbled.  "Now your mom will tell my mom and oh boy; break out the kindling."

"Probably just straitjackets," Oz reassured her, running a comforting hand across her back.

"Can we get back to the subject, please?" Xander said sharply.  Seven heads turned toward him, seven faces wore almost identical expectant expressions.  "Okay, now stop looking at me like I'm supposed to remember what the subject was."

"I think it was about Buffy and I handling Drusilla ourselves," Angel quietly offered.  "We might need some help with setting the stage, but the two of us will be doing the actual kill."

An odd silence filled the room, as if in respect for the obvious difficulty with which Angel had uttered his last words.

"You know we're here if you need us," Willow said at last.  "Not even a question."

"We know."  Buffy flashed her a grateful smile.  Surveying her guests, she saw nothing but love and support, provided she carefully avoided looking in the direction of her mother or Anya.  

Or for that matter her strangely quiet Watcher. 

"Okay, Giles; what's the deal?"  Buffy quickly slipped off of the sofa to perch on the arm of Giles' chair.  "You've hardly said a word since you got here.  You know just because Angel gave up the James Dean 'tude, don't feel you have to pick up the slack brood-wise."

Giles flushed slightly as he drew off his glasses to clean them.  "I'm sorry, Buffy; I don't mean to be unhelpful.  I suppose it just struck me that you really don't need us, me, for this for this sort of thing any more.  You've really come into your own the past few years, and you have somewhat outlived the need for a Watcher.  It's, well, it's something every Watcher hopes for...but it does leave one a trifle at loose ends."  He smiled sadly at her.  "I suppose I've been a bit busy feeling sorry for myself."

She gave him an impulsive hug, almost falling in his lap when she leaned too far off the arm of the chair.  "Hey, you are still the champion book consulter, okay?  We'll just do it by phone, and e-mail from now on.  Or you could come visit."  She looked quickly to Angel, and she was not disappointed by the encouraging smile on his pale face.

"Buffy is right, Giles.  You're welcome anytime."  

"And what about the rest of the Scoobies?" Xander asked indignantly.  "Do we get the open door policy too, or do we have to wait for the bodies to start piling up?"

Angel was prevented from making any rash promises by Joyce's abrupt rise to her feet.

"I think I'm going to be going," she said quickly.  "You don't need me here, at least not yet.  Let me know when Hank gets home and I'll come back."

"Joyce, you don't have to…" Angel automatically stood up when Joyce did, and reached out his hand towards her.  For a change, she didn't flinch, but neither did she project any sense that his touch would be welcomed.  He let his hand drop to his side.

"Mom, you can stay.  We're just talking shop; nothing top secret."

"You should stay," Willow encouraged her.  "It's kind of fun, if you forget the pain and death part of it."

Joyce continued to back up towards the front door.  "That is the part I can't quite get past," she admitted, fixing her only daughter in her sight for one lingering last look.  Before anyone could utter another protest, she had pulled open the door and slipped out.

Buffy forced a weak smile as she reached up to take Angel's hand and pull him back down beside her.  "Well, that went well," she sighed.

* * * * *

To Be Continued


	5. Chapter 5

Anam Cara

**Part Five**

By Gem

Angel shifted slightly on the sofa, causing a rumble of protest from Buffy, who lay sprawled along the length of his body.  He smiled and kissed the top of her head, resting just below his chin.

"Sorry, love," he murmured.  "Got a cramp.  Go back to sleep."

"Not sleeping," she mumbled unconvincingly against his shirt. "We should get up anyway."  

Despite her words, she made no effort to move from her resting place.

"Let's stay here a little longer," he suggested.  "We only got rid of everyone a few minutes ago."  Angel began to trace small circles on her back with the tip of his thumb, round and round as she arched into the gentle pressure and nuzzled the base of his throat with her cheek.

She was all but purring as she smoothed a lingering hand down the length of his chest in return for his caresses. "I think it was more like an hour ago.  We've been really lazy this morning."   

"No way. It couldn't have been that long."   

"Mmm, at least. I'm hungry again."

He tried not to laugh, but a chuckle escaped his iron will.  "And this is supposed to be a good way to mark the passage of time?"

Buffy struggled to push herself off of Angel's chest, but he held her fast.  "Hey!  I happen to have a perfectly normal appetite...for someone who fights demons for a living."  She pretended to pout, but she couldn't hide the relief in her eyes when she heard his laugh.

The past two days had given them little cause for laughter.

"So do we go by your stomach, or by the little voice in my head that says time stops when you're in my arms?"  His chuckling had subsided, but the feeling of contentment had not, and it was giving him certain ideas he wanted to communicate to his beloved in the greatest possible detail.

"Stomach," she said firmly, if regretfully.  "Dad will be back soon, and we need to make plans."

Angel tightened his arms around her as the smile faded from his face.  "What's to plan?" he asked softly.  "We tell him the truth, hope he takes it well, and then we go to the hotel and take care of Dru.  If she's not there, we go to Willie's and find out where she is.  Either way, it's a done deal."

She propped her chin on his ribcage, staring deep into the dark eyes she loved so much.  "It doesn't have to be."

"We talked about this when we thought she was being held captive by the Initiative.  She's too dangerous to let loose in the world."

Buffy nodded slowly.  "Yeah, we did talk about this...when we would be the ones letting her loose.  That would be wrong, knowing what we know." She reached out and traced down the line of his jaw, then stroked her way back up to his ear with the backs of her fingers.  "But she's already in the wild kingdom, Marlin. I just want her away from my dad."

"And how do you suggest we do that?  Pay her off?"  

"With blood money?" she teased.  When Angel didn't answer with a smile, she tried again.  "I was thinking threats of intense pain in her immediate future.  Or possibly siccing Spike on her, if we can run him to ground."  She shrugged.  "Same diff to her these days.  Anyway, dusting does not have to be part of the deal, unless we catch her in the act with my dad."  Buffy thought for a moment about what she had just said, and then she blushed.  "I mean, unless we catch her trying to hurt him."

"And if we stop her this time, what about the next time?" he pressed.  "You know there will be a next time, if not with Hank then with someone else one of us loves."

"Maybe not," she insisted stubbornly.  "She's not used to doing the groundwork herself; she's probably getting bored."

"Dru isn't doing this to gain some mystical treasure, or even because you're the Slayer and she's a vampire.  She's doing this because I love you, and what hurts you hurts me.  It's personal."

"But that works both ways," she protested.  "I can feel how much this hurts you, and that hurts me.  When she dies, I think a little part of you is going to die too, and I don't want that to happen."  Buffy looked beyond him, avoiding the pain she knew she would see on his face as she continued softly, "I don't even like knowing that it could.  I hate that she has that much power over you."

"It's not her, Buffy.  I swear it's not." He applied his hand to her cheek, gently forcing her to face him again.  "You're right, it will hurt to kill her because I already took away her life once."  He lifted his hand from her cheek and held it up before her face.  "And don't start with the 'the demon did it' defense again, because that's not what I meant.  I just mean..." Angel struggled to find the right words, as Buffy waited with a worried frown.  

"I was there when she died," he said at last.  "I remember it.  I remember the last moments of the girl she once was, before the demon took her body, and when I end that demon's existence it will also end all traces of that girl.  There will be nothing left of Drusilla on this earth...because of me.  That's a lot of weight to bear."

"Do you want her to have a soul?" Buffy asked softly.  "We can try, if that's what you want."

Angel stared at her in horror.  "No!"  

He sat up abruptly, dislodging Buffy in the process.  She didn't fall; he instinctively clung to her and kept her from tipping over onto the floor.  But as soon as she was safe his arms fell to his side.  

"You know how hard it was for me to deal, even with your help.  Dru was crazy before the demon took over; do you know what the memories of the last hundred years would do to her?"

Buffy slid back to the far corner of the sofa and brought her knees up defensively before her chest.  She wrapped her arms tightly around her legs, trying to fight the urge to throw them around Angel's stiff form.

"Well then what do you want?" she asked, her voice ragged with the strain.  "I can tell you don't want to kill her, and you don't think she should have a soul, but you don't think she'll ever leave us alone as long as she's a working vampire.  What other options are there?"  A sharp laugh escaped despite her best efforts.  "Maybe we should round up some of those Initiative doctors and get them to spay her inner demonic child after all."

"I told you, we have to kill her.  This latest game...she's leaving us no other options; she knows that."  His voice was low, barely above a whisper.  "It's end match; her or us, and it can't be her."

"Then stop looking like this is the end of us too!"  Buffy pounded her fist on the sofa cushion.  "I have never tried to kill her, not even when she killed Kendra and you weren't even you, because I knew how much it would hurt you if you had been you.  I can't help it if she's trying to punish you now.  It's not my fault."

Before Buffy knew what was happening, Angel had reached across the cushions, and the emotions, that separated them and pulled her onto his lap.    

"Buffy," he said urgently, "I never, I repeat 'never,' thought that this was your fault."  He paused for a moment, seeming to hear her unspoken fears as well as those she could articulate.  "And your dad won't blame you either; I'm sure of it."

She fixed her eyes on his shoulder, concentrating on pushing back the pain and the guilt.  Despite her fierce control, a single tear escaped to trickle down her cheek, before it was caught on the tip of Angel's thumb.

"Buffy, please look at me," he pleaded, cradling her cheek in the palm of his hand.

Slowly, reluctantly, Buffy turned her head to meet his gaze.  

"She's using my dad," she said, every word dragged from a dark and frightened corner of her soul.  "She's using my dad, and that means she's using me, to make you pay.  If I wasn't with you...if we weren't together..."

"No; don't even say it." Angel brushed his thumb across her lips to sweetly halt the flow of her words.  "Things are going to get rough; I know that," he whispered.  "But you are what makes it bearable.  You, and what we're building together, are what gives me the strength to do what has to be done."  

"But if we weren't together, she'd have nothing to hold over you," she said stubbornly.

Angel nodded gravely, stopping her heart for just an instant.

"Because I'd have nothing."

His voice, as well as his eyes, was reassuringly steady, slowly bringing her world back to an even keel.  She caught his cool face in her hands and leaned in, until they were nose to nose.

"I'm sorry," she breathed.  "I'm saying everything wrong today, and all I want to do is make things easier."  She tilted her head slightly upwards, pressing a soft kiss to his brow.

"You do.  You have," he said hoarsely.

"I can do more."

She followed the first kiss with a second, and then a third, each one in blessing and promise.  Angel closed his eyes and willed the pain away, inhaling the heady scent of her perfume as it rose from her warm skin.  He tangled his hands in her long blonde hair as his lips slid down the smooth line of her throat, searching for a taste of an even more intoxicating blend; that of Buffy herself.  She leaned into his caress, giggling a little bit as he hit a ticklish patch of skin.

"Maybe we should move this to the bedroom," he mumbled, taking his lips scant millimeters away from her flesh, just enough to be audible.  "Not much room here."

"Love to, but...mmm, my dad will, umm, my dad..." She stumbled in her thought processes, distracted by the southerly direction his attentions were progressing.  "Home," she finally managed to put together.  "Home soon. Dad. Maybe."

"Maybe not," he said, pulling back to offer her a playful leer.  

The smiles quickly faded from both their faces when they remembered what could ultimately prevent Hank from returning at all.  

Ever.

"Boy, way to dampen the mood," Buffy sighed.  

"Sorry."  He shrugged helplessly.

She drew a deep breath.  "Okay, well, we're not going to let you-know-who spoil all this quality alone time.  My dad will be home eventually; this we know."  She glanced sternly at Angel, daring him to dissent.

"Agreed," he responded promptly, with as much conviction, and enthusiasm, as he could muster.

"So, since it is eleven o'clock in the morning, and my dad is too old and too happily divorced to remember what a 'nooner' is..."

"Umm, Buffy..."

"We can't relocate the festivities," she hurriedly continued, warning him with a look not to disturb her illusions. "He'd be sure to come home in the middle of things, and it was really hard to be quiet last night when we knew he was here..." a blush began to stain her cheeks, "but not being sure if he's here or not, we wouldn't want to have to be quiet and, well it would just be awkward."

"So, what; we play dirty-word Scrabble instead?"

She stared at him silently for a moment, then slipped out of his arms and moved swiftly across the room.

"Buffy," he called after her, "Umm, sweetheart, I was just kidding.  I don't even like board games."

She was too busy checking the door to answer him, but the wicked little smile on her face as she returned to his side took his metaphorical breath away in anticipation.

"Actually I was thinking more along the lines of locking the door and staying right here on the sofa." She ran a teasing hand down his chest, stopping just north of the point of no return.  "Nothing too NC-17, you understand.  But given the Mom situation, we never got to do the make-out-on-the-couch-while-the-parents-are-out kind of thing when I lived with her.  I think it would be fun."

The sparkle in his eyes was all the encouragement she needed.  Buffy gently pushed at Angel's broad chest, angling him towards the open sofa cushions.  He leaned sideways and back, taking her along with him as he stretched out.

Their lips met, at first with relatively innocent intentions.  It was just supposed to be a little 'slap and tickle' on the sofa; less than they were now used to, but more than they had once dared try. But habit made things progress at an unexpectedly rapid rate, and neither of them wanted to be the one to call it quits.  

And neither of them heard the tumblers in the lock engage, just before the apartment door began to swing open.

* * * * *

A rush of cool air swept into the living room from the air-conditioned hallway, but neither it, nor the click of the door closing aroused the attention of the couple on the sofa.

"Never...played this...this exact game before," Angel mumbled between kisses.  "Things were a little...different when I...was young.  How far can we..."  His fingers lingered just beneath the edge of her tank top, awaiting a signal.

She grasped his hand firmly, sliding it further up her ribcage.

"Not quite...there yet," she answered breathlessly, as her own hand tugged impatiently at the buttons of his shirt.

"Now see, most guys would already have been there and back again without you," a cheerful voice pronounced from the far end of the sofa.  "Trust me, I speak from experience."

Only slayer reflexes allowed Buffy to land on her feet as she rolled off of Angel in surprise; and only vampiric strength prevented Cordelia from becoming a victim of raging slayer hormones denied a more preferable outlet.

Angel gently, but quickly, pulled Buffy back down next to him onto the sofa as he sat up, his arms firmly wrapped around her waist to restrain any violent impulses from being indulged.  

Hers or his.

"How did you get in here?" Buffy demanded, trying to control breathing disrupted by both passion and anger indulged in too quick of a succession.

Cordelia ignored the question; she was too busy exploring.  Her visits to Sunnydale were few and far between, by choice; and as a result she had yet to see Buffy and Angel's home away from home.

"This is much bigger than I thought it would be.  And much better decorated," she said frankly.  Cordelia gazed appreciatively around the spacious room, at Angel's watercolors hanging on the ivory walls, and the dark green and dull gold upholstery, and at the gleaming oak that made up the tables and bookcases.  "Not too shabby, guys. I was thinking way more black and martial-artsy.  Sort of Elvira meets the Karate Kid."  

"That's in the training room," Angel said dryly, nodding his head at a closed door on the far side of the living room.  "But if you'd like me to get out some weapons to make you feel at home..."

Cordelia made a face at him as she ran her hand along the edge of a bookcase.  "Very funny.  What I want to know is how you can afford this place, and that big new house.  And the office." She raised a speculative eyebrow.  "Yet somehow I'm not seeing any staggering amount of numbers to the left of that decimal point on my paychecks." 

"What I want to know is how you got in," Buffy repeated impatiently.  She would have said more, but she felt Angel's hand grip her arm, signaling her not to press the issue right now.

"Cordelia, I pay you and Doyle everything that we earn, but I can't pay more; I thought you understood."  Angel looked worried; he didn't want his friend to believe he was cheating her in any way.  "If we didn't take any money, or we just took cash...but we take checks and credit cards, and that means the IRS is watching."  He risked a small smile.  "I kind of thought you might like to avoid talking to them."

"Well sure, if you put it that way it sounds reasonable," she said grudgingly.  A moment later the obvious hurt in his eyes made her add, "And I know you probably don't want to use the old money anyway, knowing where it came from."

"No, I don't, but for the moment I don't have a choice.  Unless we can figure out a way to cap off the hellmouth, we need a home in Sunnydale as well as LA." He paused, trying to find a delicate way to make the suggestion that just occurred to him.  "But I can think of a way around the IRS, if you'd like."  

Not that he had any doubts about her liking it, or telling him in no uncertain terms if she did not.  

"If you want, I can set up a charge card for you at a boutique."  He saw the look of glee that swept across her face, as well as the corresponding apprehension on Buffy's part.  "Just a small one," he cautioned.  "A small limit, so don't get carried away.  I'll set one up for Doyle too, wherever he wants."

"I'll get you the name of the bookstore," Cordelia promised.

"Bookstore?" Angel asked, his doubt shining through more clearly than he intended.  "I was thinking more...well, I suppose we wouldn't really want to run an account for him with a bookie or at a liquor store...but a bookstore?"

"Maybe she got the names stuck together in her head," Buffy suggested.  "Bookie, liquor store, bookstore."

"I said bookstore and I meant it.  He can read, you know."  Cordelia glared at them both, wishing she'd kept her mouth shut.  Or better yet, that she had the right to explain her answer.

"Not a problem," Angel said quickly.  "I'll take care of it as soon as we get back."

"Meanwhile, you still haven't told us how you got in here."  Buffy could tell Cordelia thought she'd gotten off the hook, but the Slayer wasn't ready to give up yet.

Buffy was the one struck speechless, however, when Cordelia held up a small golden key, twirling it between her fingers as she grinned. 

The Slayer turned instantly to Angel, who was staring at the key in dismay.

"You gave Cordelia a key?" She pulled free of his embrace and crossed her arms over her chest. "We finally teach her to knock, most of the time, and then you give her a key?"  

"I did not give Cordelia a key," Angel said quickly.  

He could tell from the sudden cleft in his beloved's forehead that his reply had been a shade too defensive.  She didn't say a word; she just looked at him until he was forced to confess.

"I gave Doyle a key," Angel admitted.  "In case of...well, with the way our life usually goes, in case of who knows what, but just in case."

"You gave a key to Doyle," Buffy repeated slowly, "knowing that these days that's as good as giving it to Cordy directly."

Chagrin was rapidly being outweighed by a sense of injustice. "Tell me you didn't give one to Willow," he challenged her.

Buffy shrugged that off as inconsequential.  "Well sure, Willow, but..."

"And Giles," he pressed, sensing victory, or at least a reprieve.

She flushed, no longer meeting his eyes.  "Okay, so Giles too.  But that was just in case of...just-in-case stuff."  

"Ha!  He got you!" Cordelia crowed.

Buffy didn't seem to hear her. "Boy, and I thought you losing the guilt switch was going to be a good thing," she grumbled, facing him long enough to stick her tongue out at him. "You're still supposed to feel guilty when I tell you to, you know.  You're the guy."

Angel leaned forward, brushing his lips against the hair beside her ear.  His voice dropped down to the husky tone Buffy had told him did wild and wonderful things to her nerve endings.

"Can you find a way to forgive me?" he murmured.   

Buffy turned back to face him; their heads now so close their lips almost touched.  Angel could feel the promised shiver run down her spine as he rested his hand lightly against her back.

"If we make it a mutual forgive."   Her lips curved in unmistakable invitation.

A familiar heat lurked in the depths of his dark brown eyes.  "Wouldn't have it any other way," he assured her.  His arms slipped all the way around her again, drawing her body flush against his.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Cordelia protested.  She raised one hand to cover her eyes while holding the other out wave a scolding finger at the lovers.  "If I wanted to see this kind of thing I could have just stayed in LA and watched the guys in the office building behind us shooting their porno films."

Angel closed his eyes and reluctantly turned his attentions away from Buffy. "Cordelia, what are you...what are you doing here?" he groaned.

"Not just me," the former cheerleader said with an unrepentant grin.  "Doyle's parking my car, and then he'll be right up."

Buffy disentangled herself from Angel's embrace and threw up her hands in defeat.  "Oh, honestly, why don't we just sell tickets?  At least then we'd make some money off of our frustration."

"Please," Cordelia scoffed.  "If you two were any less frustrated you wouldn't be able to walk straight."

"Cordelia," was all Angel said, but his tone spoke volumes.

"Hey, I'm sorry; I really didn't know what was going on when I unlocked the door."  Cordelia looked earnestly at him.  "I know I should have just walked out again when I realized...but you guys weren't all that involved.  I mean, no one was naked yet, and I know Buffy's dad is staying here, so it's not like naked was on the schedule for the living room any time soon either, so..." she shrugged and smiled apologetically, "so I decided to have a little fun."

"What was fun?" Doyle asked, pushing the door closed behind him as he entered the apartment.   

"Embarrassing Buffy and Angel," Cordelia explained coolly over her shoulder.  The moment of contrition had passed.  "You'd think they'd get over the blushing thing by now, with the way they do the bunny hop 24/7...but I guess not.  And somehow my fun never fades."

Buffy scrambled to her feet.  "I'm so happy we amuse you.  Now could you tell us why you're here?  Is something wrong at home?"

It gave Angel a queer thrill to hear Buffy call LA home, and he could tell from the look on her face that she felt the same way.  He had to force himself to focus on his friends and why they had suddenly appeared.

"Since you're both here, can I ask who's minding the store? Or did the PTB's declare a holiday?"  He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at them, waiting curiously for an answer.

"David is running things," Cordelia answered brightly.  "Just answering the phone and taking messages.  Nothing too do-goodery."  Her light dimmed slightly when she saw no corresponding flare of recognition from Angel.  "You know, David Nabbitt."

"You have one of the clients running the place?  Oh this I've got to hear."  Angel drew a deep breath, trying to calm himself.  Somehow he'd never envisioned these types of problems when he went into what his employees called "the redemption racket."

"We needed someone there to keep an eye on things, and Doyle, umm, ran into him last week at the...at the..." She flailed about for a suitable location.

"Laundromat," Doyle said quickly.  He smiled in relief, until he noticed Angel's eyebrow rise to new heights, carrying Buffy's along with it.

"Laundromat," Buffy said slowly.  "You mean the one where you, and all the rest of LA's millionaires go."

"That would be the one," Cordelia snapped.  "Anyway, when we needed help we naturally thought of him.  He knows about demons already...and he likes them." Her best cheerleader's smile was forced into bloom to help sell the decision.  "I mean liking demons...really, really liking demons...is how he got blackmailed and ended up on our doorstep in the first place, right?"

"Cordelia..." Angel rose to his feet, hovering over her in an attempt to assert his authority.

"And I told him not to wear the cape," she said in a rush over her boss' continued protests.  "He wasn't exactly happy about that part, but I insisted.  And he was so grateful to help; Angel, you should have seen him."  She appealed to Doyle, "Wasn't he just too cute for words?"

"Adorable," Doyle agreed hastily.

With a sigh, Angel gave in to the inevitable.  "Since it seems to be too late to tell you 'no, don't do that;' why don't we just move on?  Why are you here?  Is this business, or personal?" he asked, his gaze wavering uncertainly between Cordelia and Doyle.

Cordelia threw a desperate glance at Doyle; they had neglected to agree on a cover story, despite the two-hour long car ride they had shared.

"Umm, we just wanted to see...that is I wanted to show Doyle my hometown," she stuttered.  "You know, before Buffy moves to LA and we have like zero reason to be here."

Buffy couldn't help the flash of panic that darted through her veins, and traveled to her eyes.  She had meant to leave behind the hellmouth, but never the friendships it had brought her.

"We still have friends here, Cor, and my mom too.  I mean, we won't be back a lot, but there's more here for us than skinny dipping in the mystical convergence."  

Angel draped his arm around Buffy's shoulders and squeezed tightly.  "Of course we'll be back.  It's only a two-hour drive."  

"Well, yeah, but..." Cordelia looked uneasily from Buffy to Angel, sensing her well-intentioned lie had done more harm than good.  

"We thought you might also need some help packing," Doyle jumped in.  "You said you had to stay a few more days, so we figured maybe that meant you were bringing back more than you thought.  So we brought an extra car, and a few more willing hands; right, Cordy?"

Cordelia offered a weak smile.  "You know me; I live to pack."

"So here we are."  Doyle shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and rocked back on his heels.  "Just the four of us and probably plenty of work to do, if your closets are anything like my, umm, like Cordelia's."

Buffy grinned at Doyle's revealing slip of the tongue, but a frown quickly succeeded the smile as another difficulty presented itself. "Well, it'll be five when my dad gets back, which makes for just the tiniest problem.  Where were you guys planning to stay?"

"Here, of course."  Cordelia stared at Buffy in complete confusion.

"Here only has two bedrooms, and both are occupied," Buffy explained.  She glanced up at Angel, searching for options.  "We've got the couch, but that will only fit one."

"Looked like it fit two to me."  Cordelia snickered behind her hand, until Angel's glare brought her back to the more serious side of things.

"Xander and Anya have their own place, and a spare room," Angel suggested.

"Oh yeah, like I want to sleep in the same apartment as my ex and his new girlfriend," Cordelia sniffed, "especially considering what Willow has told me about their sex life. May I just say 'ewww' and yes, 'ewww' again, to that plan?"

"You could stay at my mom's," Buffy offered with a grim smile.  "I happen to know she's got at least one spare room for rent."

"Or you could stay at your mom's and we could...no, that probably wouldn't work either, would it?"  Cordelia glanced doubtfully at Buffy, feeling yet another sting of remorse at the sadness in the Slayer's eyes.  

"Nooo, don't think so," Buffy replied slowly.  Her arm slipped around Angel's waist, holding fast to the best part of her life.  "Well, the only thing left, outside of a hotel, which would be too expensive, not to mention kind of silly, is the mats in the training room." 

"Hey, works for me."  Cordelia beamed as she continued, "I'm sure you two will be very comfortable in there."

"I was thinking of you and Doyle, actually," the Slayer protested.

Buffy had liked Doyle from the moment she met him, and Cordelia had turned out to be a much better friend than anyone could have imagined.  Buffy had yet to succumb to a martyr complex, however, and she had spent enough time on those mats to know they were only suitable for certain types of gymnastics.

"But we're the guests.  Aren't the hosts supposed to give up their bed for the guests?"

"You mean the uninvited guests?" Buffy asked pointedly.  "Besides, we only have one bed in there. Anything you want to tell us?"

Cordelia flushed and turned her head away slightly.  Despite her free commentary on Buffy and Angel's sex life, she wasn't ready yet to share details of her own.  Not until things were a little more settled.

Doyle slid his arm loosely around Cordelia's waist.  "Why don't we just take the training room and have done with it?"

"Cor, I'm sorry if..."

"No, Buffy, it's okay."  Cordelia turned to face her friends again, resting her hand over Doyle's as it lay against her side.  "Some things are just meant to be private."

Angel coughed.

Cordelia grinned, her good humor fully restored.  "Okay, so maybe I should remember this the next time I get the urge to barge in on you guys, huh? I'm not saying I will, of course...but maybe."

"Close enough," Buffy sighed. 

"Don't suppose you've got any spare mattresses hanging about?  If those are like the mats back in Angel's apartment, they'd break a man's back to lie on too long."  Doyle rubbed his back and grimaced, thinking of the long night's lack of sleep ahead of him.

Buffy snapped her fingers.  "Air mattress.  Or mattresses.  Whatever.  I know Oz has some because the band is always crashing in his van when they can't afford motel rooms."

Cordelia raised a carefully plucked eyebrow.  "You really expect us to use mattresses that even the Dingoes only use under duress?"

"We have clean sheets, Cordy.  And I'm sure the mattresses are the blow-up plastic kind, so they won't carry germs."  Angel was growing weary of the negotiations, almost to the point of offering to sleep in the training room himself.  Only the steely look in Buffy's eyes prevented him from speaking up.

Well, that and the perverse feeling that as the undisputed eldest of the group, he was entitled to a bed at night instead of the floor.

Cordelia threw herself down in the wingback chair.  "Fine.  Call Oz and have him bring the mattresses over.  Problem solved."

Buffy looked quickly at Angel, correctly reading the half-pleading glance he directed at her.  "Or we could go get them, Cor," she suggested, rubbing her hand up and down Angel's side.  "My car is stuffed to the gills, but we could take yours.  Just you and me.  Female-bonding time, you know."

Cordelia's eyes narrowed.  "Just what are you up to, Buffy Summers?  You're not going to make me listen to the band practice or anything, are you?  You know, so I can use my contacts in Hollywood to turn them into that band no one has ever heard of singing the theme song to a show no one is ever going to watch?"

"Hollywood contacts?" Buffy sputtered.  Only the gentle reminder of Angel's hand on her shoulder prevented her from saying precisely what she thought of Cordelia's so-called contacts. "No, Cordelia; no band.  I promise."  

She turned to Angel and stood on her tiptoes to press a swift kiss on his lips, before she reached over and hauled Cordelia to her feet.  "Now let's go."

"Won't you be needing help?" Doyle called out, shooting an anxious glance at Angel.  

"No, you guys sit back and let the womenfolk do the lifting."  Buffy smiled broadly.  "Talk.  Catch up on the what's happening."

"Oh," Doyle said glumly, "that."

* * * * *

Doyle knew why Angel wanted to see him alone, but he suddenly realized he had a thing or two he needed to tell the vampire himself.  No sooner had the door closed behind Buffy than he pulled a small brown cardboard box from his jacket pocket.

"Someone told me you'd been expecting this."  He tossed the box to Angel, who snatched it from the air and cradled it in his palm.

"When did this come?" the vampire demanded, rapidly shifting his sights from his friend to the package in his hand, and back again.  "Cordelia told me this morning that..."

"Ah well, Cordelia told a bit of a fib," Doyle interrupted him, throwing himself down on the sofa with a sigh.  "She meant no harm, though.  She knew you'd want it right away, and she wanted to be the one to bring it to you."

Angel sat down on the opposite end of the sofa, still staring at the small box in bemusement.  "That was really nice of her," he said absently.  "I feel..." he raised his head to look at Doyle, "well, now I feel bad about calling her so early, and so late."  

A small grin tugging at the corner of his lips, however, suggested his remorse would not be too difficult to overcome.

"I wouldn't be accessorizing that hair shirt too soon if I was you.  She had other reasons for coming too, and there you may not thank her for the helping hand."

Angel's suspicions were instantly aroused.  "What's wrong?"

Doyle held up his own hands in surrender.  "Not a thing on our end," he protested.  "She was worried about Buffy's dad showing up unexpectedly.  She thought you might need some back-up against the in-laws."

The vampire still was not reassured.  "She didn't bring the swords with her, did she?  Because I told her no weapons."

"Relax, man.  The closest thing to a weapon she brought is that nail file thing of hers.  You know, the six-inch blade she insists is perfectly harmless."

The two men shuddered in memory of the wounds that blade had inflicted when Cordelia was not paying attention to what she was doing.  Still, it was not technically a weapon.

"So how much protection do you need anyway?" Doyle asked.  "Cordy said you promised to tell her later, and by my watch, later it is."

Angel gazed at the box in his hand, thinking of all the promise it contained.  Promise he would have to struggle through the next few days to fulfill.

"Angel if I'm overstepping me bounds, just say so."

"Buffy's mother thinks it's time we tell Hank the truth," the vampire said at last.  "About me, about Buffy, about how we met and what we do.  The whole deal."

"And you're letting her push you into it?  Isn't that what got you into trouble last year?" Doyle could feel the beginnings of anger stirring within him, and he could only imagine how his fiery, and extremely outspoken, girlfriend would react when she learned the truth.

"She's right this time, and for the right reason too."  Angel laughed; a quick harsh sound bearing no resemblance to the sound that earlier had so delighted his beloved.  "Hank has tried very hard to accept my relationship with his daughter, and to get to know me as a person.  It's not fair to blame Joyce for not doing the same when she knows I'm not..."

"And that's where we part company," Doyle firmly overrode him.  "Buffy's mum may be right about him needing to know the truth; if he's going to be hanging about he should learn who the players are.  But it appears to me that she's using it as an excuse for herself too, so she don't have to make the effort to get to know you."

"Maybe."  Angel would concede the possibility, but no more.  Not yet, at least.

"Ah, well, give Cordy five minutes with the man and she'll have him straightened out, if it's straightening he needs.  Pity the man, woman, or child who gives you a hard time of it in her hearing."

Angel grinned.  "That's her job."

"Damn straight," Doyle agreed with a conspiratorial wink.  

"This was..." Angel nodded at his palm and its precious burden, "this was really nice of her, of both of you.  I didn't think we'd be in Sunnydale for more than a few hours, but some, umm, unexpected complications came up, and I don't mean just Buffy's parents." His hand tightened reflexively around the small box.  "It's really important, though, that I have this...this box this week."

Doyle grinned at the sheer naivete of his two hundred and forty-four-year-old friend.  "Angel, we know what's in the box.  We don't know why you're fretting so about having it this instant, but we know what it is."

"Well Buffy doesn't, so not a word, okay?"  Angel waved an admonishing finger at his partner.  "I want this to be a surprise.  We haven't had too many good ones, so I'm determined to do this one right."

"Aye-aye, cap'n."  Doyle offered a mock salute.  "You have my word on it, and I'll even try to keep the fair Cordelia silent, though if I were you I wouldn't put things off too long.  She's not too good about things like tact, so lying is an even harder pill for her to swallow."  Doyle stopped speaking abruptly, remembering certain things he, too, had asked Cordelia to keep quiet about.

"Uh, yeah; I'll keep that in mind."  Angel glanced down at the box again, and then turned his body on the sofa to face Doyle more easily.  "Listen, as long as we're talking about secrets and things, I have a feeling there's some things you've been keeping from me.  Not bad things," he hastened to add, "just...things."

"We all have our little secrets," Doyle said evasively.  "Nothing wrong with that, is there?"

"No," Angel answered, "not as long as they're not hurting anyone.  And by anyone, I mean you too.  I feel like whatever it is, is something you really do want to say, but you're afraid to, and I'm not sure why.  Whatever it is, Doyle, it can't be as bad as anything I've done."  He shook his head ruefully.  "No way can it be as bad."

"I didn't say it was a bad thing, you know, if there was a thing, a secret thing.  There's just stuff that has to come in its own time, when the world is ready for it."

"Boy, it's a beautiful day out there," marveled Hank from the open doorway.  "You fellas really should be out there enjoying the sunshine."

"Even if you and the world disagree on what that timing should be," Doyle continued, casting a pitying glance at his suddenly frozen friend.

* * * * *

"Hank," Angel said, "we, umm, we weren't expecting you back for a while."  He stood up quickly and gestured Buffy's father to enter, realizing that his initial slack-jawed response to Hank's arrival might be interpreted as less than welcoming.  "Actually we were kind of surprised you had anywhere to be back from.  Not that you had to check in or anything, of course.  I mean you can come and go as you...Did you take care of your business problem already?"

"Uh, yes, and I am sorry about that."  Hank crossed the room and shook Doyle's hand before seating himself in the reclining chair.  "I lent my laptop to…well, a friend, and she accidentally deleted some crucial files.  I had to restore them before anything else was damaged."

"She?" Angel mused unhappily.  "That 'she' wouldn't happen to be Drusilla, would it?"  He sat down heavily on the sofa.

Hank instantly went on the defensive.  "And if it was?  I'm an adult Angel, and so is your sister.  If we want to spend time together..."

Doyle smelled trouble and hastily jumped in to defuse the tension before things got out of hand. 

"Angel, man, you have a sister?  Since when?" He sat down next to his friend and slapped him on the back. "And why did you never try to fix her up with your old pal Doyle?"  

No sooner had the words been said than 'old pal Doyle' remembered exactly how old a sister of Angel's would be.  Suddenly his questions assumed significance far beyond social pleasantries.  

"She's not exactly my sister," Angel hedged.

"What do you mean, 'not exactly'?" Doyle and Hank asked at the same time.

Angel ran his hand through his hair, wracking his brain for a quick and bloodless escape from this mess.  Buffy was supposed to be here for this, and so was Joyce.  Maybe it would be better coming just from him, man to man.  But that wouldn't change how his beloved, or her mother, felt about being left out of this life-altering conversation.

"She is family, sort of," he said at last, stalling for time.  He rose to his feet again, gesturing Doyle to stay put.  "Listen, believe it or not, this all has to do with what Buffy and I needed to talk to you about, Hank.  So I'm just going to call Buffy's cell phone, and call Joyce at home, and then we can all have that talk."

"Angel, I really think if this has to do with your feelings about me getting to know your sister, that my ex-wife should not be involved."

"Dru is just part of it; she's not why Joyce asked you to come to Sunnydale," Angel protested.  "We didn't even know you knew her.  But you deserve to know all about her, which means learning more about me."

"So this little talk is actually about you?  Am I finally going to learn why Joyce is so dead set against this relationship?"

Suddenly voices were audible from the hallway outside the apartment.

"Listen, Cordy, with the way you drive, I wouldn't think you'd want to give the police your real name."  Buffy poked her head around the door as she opened it.  "Cordelia forgot her license," she explained as the brunette breezed past her into the living room.  "I tried to convince her we didn't need it to get to Oz's, because I didn't want to interrupt you guys, but...Dad, you're back."

"And just in time to find out what's going on," he informed her.  "Looks like you just need to call Joyce, Angel."

Buffy stood hesitantly in the doorway.  "You were going to talk to Dad without me?" she asked.  There was no anger in her voice, only quiet hurt.

"No," Angel answered quickly.  He sat back down and surreptitiously stuffed the small box in his hand in between two sofa cushions.  "We got on the subject of Dru and, well, one comment kind of led to another and...I was just about to call you.  And your mom.  I think it's time."

"I think it's past time," Hank interjected.  "And if you don't mind, unless Joyce knows something neither one of you does about this, I'd rather begin without her, and she can add her little commentary when she arrives."  He crossed his arms over his chest and tapped his foot, waiting impatiently for an answer.

"And that would be our cue to leave," Doyle said hastily.  "Cordy, me darlin, we're going to get those mattresses ourselves, and then you can give me the guided tour of Sunnyhell, I mean 'dale.'"  He didn't wait for the sputtering Cordelia to complete her protest before he grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the door.

Buffy looked with resignation at Angel. He shrugged and smiled half-heartedly.  Ready or not, it was time.

"I'll go call Mom.  Angel, can you, umm, make my dad a drink?"

"Honey, it's a little early," her father protested, waving his watch to support his statement.

"Make it a big one," she said firmly.

* * * * *

To Be Continued 


	6. Chapter 6

**Anam Cara**

**Part Six**

By Gem

"I really don't need that drink, Angel," Hank said quietly as he resumed his seat.  "All I need is the truth.  For a change."

Angel squared his shoulders, bracing for the coming scene.  "And that's what you'll get on both counts.  The only thing we have to drink here is coffee and soda anyway.  I lost my taste for alcohol a long time ago, and Buffy's underage."

"I'm not sure whether I should be relieved you remembered how young she is, or wondering what you were doing at the same age to turn you off of drinking."

"You're about to find out."

Buffy reentered the room before Hank could question Angel further.  "Mom's on her way," she said as she took her seat next to Angel on the sofa.  "Where are we?"

"Trying to figure out where to begin," Angel answered.  He offered her a weary smile.  "You first or me?"

Buffy cast a speculative glance at her father.  He was trying not to fidget, but she could tell he was rapidly losing patience with the delays.

"Umm, we'll try me."  She started to reach out for Angel's hand, but it was already poised just above hers.  In an instant they were united, and suddenly she had her beginning point.  

"Dad, before I say anything about the past, there's something I want you to understand.  I love Angel.  That's never changed, and it never will.  And he loves me."

"With all my heart," Angel said steadily.

"And this is the big news?" Hank asked. 

"No, I just wanted to make sure you understood that what we're about to tell you, and how you react, has nothing to do with us...as us.  I mean I hope you'll understand, but even if you don't, it won't affect us.  We belong together, and no one will ever convince us that we don't."

"Not again," Angel promised.

"All right, I see the line in the sand.  Now do you want to tell me what inspired this declaration?  

"Okay, deep breath time."  She suited her actions to her words.  "Umm, Dad, you remember all the fights I used to get into that last year at Hemery, and all the nights I slipped out of the house without telling you or Mom? And the bloodstains I wouldn't explain, and the, umm, little fire at the gym, and..."

Angel shook her hand gently.  "I think he gets the drift, Buffy."

Hank looked at Angel in shock.  "You told me this was about you. This is supposed to be about you, and it goes back that far?  Just how long have you been dating my daughter?"  He leaned forward as though to grab the vampire.

"Dad," Buffy said sharply, "focus.  This part is about me.  My story.  I'm trying to tell you there was a reason for all that stuff, but it was not Angel."  Thinking of her mother, she quickly repeated herself. "It was not Angel.  I got in those fights because I'm a...a vampire slayer."

Hank stared at her for a moment, and then he slowly sank back into his chair.  A small, relieved smile played on his lips.  "A vampire slayer. I see."

He was taking it much better than Buffy had expected.  Actually he was taking it a little too well. She wondered if perhaps he just didn't see the big picture.

"I kill vampires. Bad vampires, that is," she added, after a quick glance at Angel.  "There's a whole long spiel about my duties and my powers, but I don't want to bore you with it.  Basically, I kill demons.  I've been doing it since I was fifteen, when all of the, umm, trouble started at school."

Buffy winced and waited for the confusion.  Waited for the anger.  Waited for the hurt.

The laughter took her somewhat by surprise.

"Dad, you're not yelling."  This should have pleased her, but instead she was worried.  "No yelling, no questions, no instinctive denials."  Buffy shook her head.  "I begin to see why you and Mom didn't mesh in the long run."

"I should be yelling," Hank admitted frankly.  "You should never have let one of those games pull you in like that, but I was young once too and I remember how exciting they can be and..."

"Games?" Angel asked urgently.  He shared a quick confused look with Buffy.  "What games, Hank?"

"D&D."  He saw their identically blank expressions and elaborated.  "Dungeons and Dragons, right?  Or whatever they're calling it these days.  I dabbled in role-playing games a bit myself when I was in college, though not as much as one of my roommates. So I can understand how Buffy got hooked on it, but..."

Buffy sighed; a swing and a miss.  "No, Dad, it's not a game.  It's real.  Real life and real death."

"Honey, I know it feels real; that's the point."  Hank smiled indulgently at his only daughter.  Who knew they had so much in common?  "But you have to keep your perspective.  You're not still playing it, are you?  You've been doing so well in school; you must have given it up."

She tried again.  "Dad, I hunt vampires.  Demons.  Anything that goes bump in the night on its way to take over the world or kill someone.  That's my job."

"Well, actually it's more like sacred destiny."  Angel's correction was gentle, and the pride that Buffy saw in his eyes before he turned to Hank took her breath away.  "Only one girl in a generation is called at one time, and she is gifted with special strength and skills to help her.  Buffy is the best I've ever seen, the best period.  You'd be very proud if you ever saw her in action."

"Sounds like a great character, though a little more violent than I would have pictured for my little girl."  Hank turned to the now open-mouthed Angel.  "So who do you play?"

Buffy instinctively started to protest, but she realized the futility of it before she could even compose the argument in her mind.  "My bad.  How is he going to believe I hunt vampires if he doesn't believe there are vampires?"

"Which makes it my turn." Angel fought against his instinctive grimace as he tried to prepare himself for the fear, and possibly disgust, in Hank's eyes.

Buffy nodded unhappily and squeezed his hand.  "And I think we better start with the Show portion, and then the Tell this time."

"Better brace yourself, Hank."  

With this brief warning, Angel let the demon within him rise just a little closer to the surface, forcing his facial features to reshape themselves.  

He hated the sensation as his teeth lengthened and sharpened, nicking his lower lip as they grew.  He hated the feel of his forehead thickening as the bones rearranged themselves, leaving a ridge shading his eyes.  And he hated the haze that seemed to fog over those eyes as they yellowed.  Suddenly people and animals, any warm blooded creatures, had outlines to them; rings of heat gradually diminishing the further they extended from the source.

Most of all he hated the sharpening hunger for chaos that was the demon's stock and trade.  The only solace he found in this carefully metered exhibition was the control he could exercise over the demon.  It gave him a fierce pleasure to know he could contain the beast...but the pleasure itself angered him with its intensity.

It had been a long time since Angel allowed himself to contemplate the demon within him.  Life with Buffy had been too...ordinary, really, to create such thoughts.  He had been too happy to brood about that which had the power to make him unhappy.

As a result, it took him several minutes before he came back from his inner musings to realize that Hank was deathly pale and hyperventilating.

* * * * *

"Just breathe, Dad," Buffy was saying as Angel surfaced from the depths of his own mind.  "I know it's a shock, but just breathe."  She hovered over her father, fanning him with the torn-off cover of the doughnut box.

Angel's face instantly assumed its human appearance.  "Hank, I'm sorry," he said quickly.  "We probably should have said more to explain first." He glanced at Buffy.  "Maybe we should have borrowed those books from Giles after all."

Buffy was too preoccupied to answer him.  "A bag; isn't that what people breathe into?" She stood up abruptly, anxious to be doing something genuinely helpful.  "We have bags in the kitchen.  I'll go and get..."

"We only have plastic," Angel said, more sharply than he intended.  He softened his voice when he added, "You're thinking of paper bags."

"Oh."  Her voice was small.  "Not exactly interchangeable, huh?"

"I'm fine," Hank gasped.  He shook his head, trying to banish the image of those fangs, and the yellow eyes.  "I just need...I need a minute here.  Let me think."

Buffy quickly sat down next to Angel again and took his hand in hers again.  They shared numerous worried glances, but observed a respectful silence while her father processed.

"That wasn't a mask?" Hank asked hesitantly a few minutes later.  "No, of course not; I was looking right at you.  And this isn't a studio, so that rules out a blue screen.  And I haven't done drugs since coll...I mean I never did anything that could repeat...I mean I never did...what the hell was that?" Hank cried out, lost in confusion and guilty memories.

"I'm a vampire. Buffy is the Vampire Slayer, and I'm what she's hunting." Angel spoke quietly, and though Hank was too stunned to hear the underlying pain, Buffy was not.

"Or he would be," she added hastily, "if he didn't have a soul.  Which he does.  So he's good.  Very, very good."

"Buffy..."

"You are," she said indignantly, forgetting her father for the moment.  "You are the best person I know.  And I do mean 'person,' too."  She turned back to Hank.  "Mom can't see him that way, but Angel is a wonderful person, who just happens to be..."

"A vampire," her father contributed, smiling weakly.  

"That would be me."  Angel cleared his throat.  "Hank, I know this is a lot to absorb...and you're really doing great, by the way.  We never wanted to deceive you; you have to know that.  But the Slayer usually doesn't even live with her family, let alone share her calling with them, and as for me, well," Angel shrugged apologetically, "being a vampire tends to put people off."

Trying to be the portrait of nonchalance, Hank choked out a laugh. "Go figure."

He would remain calm, Hank ordered himself; he would remain calm.  His daughter was living with a vampire, but he, Hank, would remain calm.

"You need to know this stuff, Dad.  Angel hunts demons too, and now we're going to be working together, in LA.  We'll be seeing more of you, and you'll be seeing more of what we do."  Buffy leaned forward, resting her free hand on her father's knee.  "We don't want to have to pretend or lie or hide things anymore."

"And I appreciate that," her father assured her.  "I think."

She sat back on the sofa again with a relieved smile.  "I know once you think about it, and after you spend some more time with Angel, you'll realize his being a vampire just doesn't stack up against all the other things he is."

Her father blinked a few times as he tried to make that phrase fit with the world as he had always known it.  In truth, he wanted nothing so much as to run far away from this room and the reality he had been forced to confront here.  But running away had almost cost him his daughter once.  Leaving now, when she had risked all to include him in her life would surely finish things between them forever.  So he tried to ask normal, father-type questions, as though this was a normal father/daughter problem.

"So Angel being a, umm, a vampire...it doesn't matter to you?"

Buffy's answer came quickly, as the result of many long nights' contemplation.

"Of course it matters.  I'm not just 'a' slayer, Dad; I'm 'the' Slayer.  As in a 'guess who's in charge of saving the world tonight' kind of 'the.'  And you know it's lonely at the top."  She risked a small smile.  "I mean I'm not totally on my own; my friends help as much as they can, and so does my Watcher, Giles."

"A Watcher?"   He rubbed his scalp; these segues were beginning to make his head hurt.

"He's sort of like a personal trainer/tutor/one-man reference library," she said, making vague gestures in the air to demonstrate Giles' versatility. "Anyway, they all help, but none of them knows how it feels to be the one responsible; to be the last line of defense.  Angel does."  Buffy squeezed her lover's hand.  "He knows how hard it is, and how lonely it is, and how scary it is.  And he makes it not be."

Hank opened his mouth to comment, but Buffy wasn't finished yet.

"Besides, Angel wouldn't even be here if he wasn't a vampire; he would have died almost 250 years ago."  She smiled winsomely, as though this last piece of irrefutable logic was the ace in the hole.

"A vampire...with a soul," her father said slowly.  "I thought...well, I thought that was why vampires had no reflection.  Because they had no soul."

"Sure, no one remembers Shakespeare's sonnets, but everyone knows their Bram Stoker," Angel grumbled.

"Excuse me?"

"Vampires," Angel said loudly, "are..."

"Sometimes a little sensitive about the rep that the media gives them," Buffy jumped in to finish for Angel.  She touched her fingertip gently to his lips before she continued, "Honey, I totally agree with you, but can we save the PSA for after we get Dad comfortable with the basic concept of vamps?" 

He gave in gracefully, with a nod and even the barest trace of a twinkle in his eyes. If he had learned anything from Buffy and her friends, it was the delicate art of laughing at himself.  

"You're right.  Later."

"The no-reflection deal is more of a protective thing, like the claws on a cat," she told her father.  "But Angel's soul being front and center isn't the norm.  When a person becomes a vampire the soul is gone and all that's left is a demon.  A bad demon," Buffy specified, for the benefit of a parent who never knew there was any other kind of demon.

Who never knew there were demons at all, for that matter.

"I was...it sounds strange to put it this way now, but I was cursed with the restoration of my soul."  Angel smiled quickly at Buffy, taking one finite moment to marvel at a world where curses could secure for a man his heart's desire.  "It was over a hundred years ago, and at first I thought it would drive me crazy.  The guilt and the shame were...beyond words.  But then I met Buffy, and I started to realize there might be a greater purpose to my life."

"A life that should have ended before George Washington went for a sail on the Delaware."  Hank glanced uncertainly at the man he thought was to be his future son-in-law.  "You really don't look...umm, you probably don't age; do you?  Ever?  Or die?"

"Not a natural death, no.  And no to aging too."  The corner of Angel's mouth turned up in a half-smile.  "Those are supposed to be the selling points to joining the club."

"A joke.  I don't know why that surprises me, but..." Hank shook his head, as though to clear away all the confusion by physically rearranging his thoughts.  "I know you," he protested.  "At least I felt like I did.  I just can't believe there was so much I missed."

"Dad, we wanted you to know Angel as a person first, not like, well, some people who haven't dealt with the 'us' idea so well.  And you did get to know him; you guys have become almost friends, right?"  Buffy was a little ashamed of the pleading note that had crept into her voice, but the stakes were too high to let pride have its way.

"I love Buffy; you know that, Hank."  Angel's voice was husky with emotion, but he met Hank's eyes squarely.  "Whatever else is true about me, that is the most important truth."  

Hank did not doubt Angel's sincerity; he had seen the proof of that love with his own eyes.  But a darker thought was sliding insidiously into Hank's mind past any thoughts of romance or devotion, spawned by Buffy's references to 'some people.'  

"How much of this does Joyce know?  And when did she find out?  How did she find out?"

Angel abandoned handholding for a more substantial form of contact as he slipped his arm around Buffy's waist and pulled her firmly against his side.  This was where things were going to get really messy.

"Mom knows everything...almost," Buffy answered reluctantly.  "I told her the night I ran away from home two years ago.  She, umm, was the someone who didn't take it too well, and there wasn't a whole lot of time to explain at first."  

She dropped her head to stare intently at her shoes as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.  To this day, she still could not remember that night, that terrible night she sent Angel to hell, without tears.

Things were suddenly a lot clearer to Hank Summers, not that he was too happy with the clarity.

"And is that why you ran away?"

"Hank..." Angel began.

"Angel, it's okay."  Buffy looked up at her love and smiled.  It wasn't much of a smile, but she was trying.  "I ran away from home for a lot of reasons, Dad, but not really because of Mom.  I mean she did wig out on me, but she wasn't the real problem."  She paused, forcing herself to be calm.  "My job makes me do things I really hate sometimes...you have no idea how much.  That night was one of those times.  When it was over, I just couldn't...I couldn't stay."

Angel trailed his fingers down her cheek, drawing her face towards his.  "Sshhh, Buffy.  It's over; it's done.  And we survived.  The important thing now is that your dad gets to know who you really are."

Hank watched his daughter and her boyfriend as they once again withdrew to their own private world.  He'd seen a lot of that the past two months, whether they were in the same room, or just on the phone with each other.  He'd found himself in the odd position of being almost jealous of his daughter; that she'd found something deeper and more enduring at her tender age than he would ever know.  Once upon a time he'd thought he and Joyce might have that elusive bond, but it was not to be.  And while things might be going well with Drusilla at the moment it was still far too soon to...

Hank could almost see the light bulb exploding inside his brain as he realized the further implications of Angel's confession.

"Drusilla!" he snapped, for an instant not caring what healing process he was interrupting.  "You said she's not exactly your sister, and I can tell she's not because she'd have to be over two hundred years old for that.  But how does she fit into this?"

Angel's warm Buffy-directed smile faded in the harsh light of reality.  His hand dropped from his beloved's face as he turned to face Hank.  

"She's not 200, no," he agreed gravely.  "And she's not my sister.  But she is, in a way, part of my family.  She's a vampire, Hank."  He could feel Buffy tense beside him; he could feel her almost physically willing him not to continue, but he'd meant it about ending the lies.  Hank needed full disclosure, and Angel needed closure.

"She..."

"She's a vampire," Angel repeated, "because I made her one.  One hundred and forty years ago."

* * * * *

Buffy thought her father had been pale before, when he'd seen Angel's game face, but he'd looked positively glowing compared to now.  Hank's normally tanned face had gone a dull grey, and tiny beads of sweat dappled the skin above his chalky lips.

"That is not possible," he ground out, fighting for every word.  "You are not trying to tell me that that sweet girl is a...a..."

"Vampire," Buffy finished quietly for him.  "I'm sorry, Dad.  Believe me when I say I know how you feel."  

She looked quickly at Angel, remembering a winter's night in her old bedroom, when all the glorious possibilities she'd been spinning out in her mind turned to ash.  But at least for them, there had been a chance.  It was not an easy path, but the rewards were worth the fight.

For Hank, there was no chance at all.

"Hank, I don't know what to say."  Angel could scarcely stand to look at Buffy's shattered father.  "I know that you've been spending a lot of time with her, and you thought you were getting to know her, but she's not remotely who she said she was.  The girl you've built up in her mind was never Dru; it was a part she was playing."

"And you think this helps?"

"Now?" Angel shook his head.  "No.  Not a bit.  But in the long run it will save your life."

"So you're trying to convince me that it's all right for my daughter to be in love with a vampire, but I..."  He couldn't frame the words; he wasn't even sure if they applied.  All he knew is that if they were telling him the truth, he would never know.

"She doesn't have a soul, Dad.  And we can't give her one because she was kind of, umm, messed up before she was turned."  Buffy carefully avoided Angel's eyes, and braced herself to physically restrain him if he tried to explain the causes of Dru's mental condition.  "Angel had a really tough time handling the guilt, but Dru...there's no way."

Hank abruptly rose to his feet.  "This is crazy, all of it.  I mean, maybe you are a vampire, Angel.  That face...and I've never seen you in a mirror; why would I look?  I've never seen you out in the daytime either.  That's supposed to be a tip-off too; am I right?"

"I can't go out in the daylight," Angel agreed with a grave nod.  "That's one of the reasons I left Buffy last year; I thought it would be selfish to keep her with me in the darkness."

"Yeah, so sayeth Mom."  Buffy shot her father an anxious glance.  "It's only direct light that hurts him, and anyway it doesn't matter to me," she said firmly.  "That part of him being a vampire does not matter."

"You don't understand," Hank responded wildly.  "You tell me that Drusilla is a vampire too, but I've seen her in the daylight.  Outdoors.  With me.  Today."

* * * * *

"Hank, that's not possible."

Angel remained calm.  Obviously Drusilla had used some glamor to convince Hank that they were outside...not that glamors were actually that strong.  Or maybe she had worked a spell on him...except that she didn't know anything beyond the basic witchcraft every vampire knows.  Or maybe...maybe Hank was just imagining things.

Whatever the explanation, Angel was at least certain of one thing: Drusilla could not go out in the daylight.

"I tell you I saw her.  I've been with her outdoors.  Today even.  We went to a little streetside café for coffee, because she didn't want breakfast..."

"She's not a real big eater, Dad.  She prefers a nice warm drink, preferably café au corpuscles."  

"Stop saying that!"  Hank glared at his daughter.  "You've been telling me all these incredible stories that you expect me to believe without question, and yet when I tell you one simple fact I absolutely know is true, you think I'm imagining or hallucinating or something."

"I'm sorry, Dad."  She flushed with embarrassment. "I know this is a big shock, and I really, really know how much it has to hurt.  But it was, well, kind of a shock for us too last night, seeing you with her."

"Hank, we do believe...that you believe," Angel said swiftly.  "But what you're saying is not possible.  I made Dru; I know what she is because I'm responsible for it.  I live with that knowledge every day."

Buffy anxiously stroked his arm.  "Soul versus no soul; we've talked about who's supposed to maximize those mea culpas."  She turned her troubled gaze to her father.  "Dad, I know vampires; I can sense them.  Dru was a vamp the last time she was in Sunnydale, and I'd know if something was different last night."

"Even if by some...miracle, Dru was made human, I would have known too."  Angel swallowed at the idea of Dru being human again, of the sins that would erase, or at least mitigate, for him.  "I would have felt it last night when we danced.  I would have heard her heart beating."

Buffy looked away, remembering their dance in the bedroom last night.  She never noticed his heart's silence when they were together; she took it for granted now that her heart would be enough for the two of them.

"I don't...I don't know about heartbeats, but I know what I saw," Hank insisted.  "I saw Drusilla walking down a sunny street this morning, and it's not the first time.  She's not really a sun worshipper, but she goes out in the daylight.  So she can't be a vampire."  He closed his eyes and shook his head slightly.  "I can't believe I just said that."

Buffy turned to Angel, worry written clearly across her features.  "Look, I know this sounds crazy, but I'm starting to believe him.  Not that Dru isn't a vampire anymore, but that she's found a way to beat the 'no sunlight' clause in the contract."

Angel squeezed her hand tightly.  "I am too; I just don't understand how.  It's one of the few absolutes I know of: sunlight plus vampire equals no more vampire.  You've used it yourself; you know as well as I do."

Buffy nodded, never taking her eyes from his.  "And I also know that we know of at least one way around it."  She took a deep breath.  "I know you destroyed the ring, but are you sure there wasn't enough left to be rebuilt?"

Angel shook his head vehemently.  "No, absolutely not. I was afraid of that, so I smashed it with a brick.  It...basically it exploded.  Green glow and everything.  It's gone."

"And are we sure that's the only one?" she asked steadily.  

Angel wanted to give her a swift and absolute 'yes,' but honesty compelled him to study the matter from all angles.  He ran a hand repeatedly through his dark hair as he searched his memory for any relevant myths or legends, any possible scrap of information. 

"It's the only one I've ever heard of," he said at last, "but I suppose there could be others.  It's not likely, though," he warned her.  "A ring with that kind of power, well, word gets around.  I think in 250 years I would have heard if there were two of them lying around waiting to be taken."

"Maybe it wasn't lying around.  Maybe it was already taken, and then Dru took it back."  Buffy turned to face her father.  "Dad, do you know if...Dad?  Dad, where are you?"

Buffy and Angel looked frantically around the room, calling out to Hank Summers, but receiving no answers.  Clearly sometime during their conference, he had left.

"Oh God, where could he...do you think he went..." Buffy couldn't finish the sentence; the look in her eyes begged Angel to say 'no' without her having to put the thought in words.

Angel knew what she wanted, but he also knew she needed the truth more.  "Yeah, I think he did.  And we have to get to him first."  He glanced at the heavily covered windows and frowned at what they represented.  "Make that 'you' have to get to him, since I don't have Dru's new magic power, and I'm not at my most persuasive when I'm exploding into dust."

She leaned over and kissed him, hard and fast, to shut out the mental image his last words had given her.  

"That's okay.  One of us needs to send Giles scurrying for his books to find out how she's doing this and how we can stop her.  You're better with the research end of things anyway."

He grabbed her arm as she started to stand up.  "Be careful, Buffy.  If she does have a part of the Gem of Amara...she's invincible."

"Only as long as she's wearing it," Buffy pointed out cheerfully.  A moment later a frown wrinkled her forehead.  "We just have to figure out what 'it' is."

* * * * *

Drusilla hummed a little tune of her own composing as she polished her favorite necklace.  The antique gold was responding well to her ministrations, but the stone at the apex continued to mock her.  No matter how gently, or how vigorously, she rubbed it, its flat and lifeless appearance remained untouched.  Gradually her contented murmurings gave way to discordant silence. 

She had never liked the color green; it was the color of decay.  Festering bloodless useless bodies and rotting cabbages; that was what green meant.  

Now black was a lovely color, just like the night.  And red, of course, was her favorite color.  That went without saying.  Even white was nice, because it was the color of the stars, and it set off red so well.

But what could you do with green?

She held the necklace away from her, dangling it from her fingertips so she could examine the green stone at its heart as other must see it.

It was pale, as though it was the best it could do.  There was no sparkle in its depths to draw the eye to it, and the cut was old-fashioned even by Dru's standards.  It might have been a washed out chunk of bottle glass for all the allure it held.

There had to be something more to it, she fretted.  How could she wear such an ugly old thing on her neck, making people think of bottle glass or rotted vegetables?  She would be laughed at, humiliated.  There must be something to make people respect it, and her, when she wore it.

An insistent pounding noise reverberated through the door, and was duly catalogued by her distracted subconscious.  Dru had much more important matters to attend to than interlopers, however, and the sound was put aside for later investigation.

She stalked over to the window, determined to see some saving grace in this hideous old relic.  A savage yank at the curtain rope flung the drapes wide open, allowing the late morning sun to stream through the glass and pour into the room.

As the sun's rays bathed both her hand and the necklace draped across it in light, Drusilla smiled in relief.

Now she remembered what made the necklace so pretty.

* * * * *

"That's what I said, Giles.  Hank insists he saw Dru outside in the sun and we believe him."  Angel paused, hearing the doorbell chime. "Yeah," he said, returning his attention to Giles, "I know it doesn't make any sense, but since when do things have to make sense on the hellmouth?  Listen, there's someone at the door; I have to go.  Come over as soon as you can, okay?  Thanks to some construction ordered by the new mayor, your apartment's not on our sewer line anymore, and I'm housebound for a few hours."

He quickly turned the phone off and hurried over to the door, hoping against hope it was Hank.

"Joyce," he said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.  "You're back."

"I'm back because Buffy called me," she reminded him as she brushed past him to enter the apartment.  "She said you were ready to tell Hank the truth."  Glancing around the otherwise empty living room, she came to an unhappy conclusion.  "You started without me, didn't you?"

Angel closed the door, resigning himself to entertaining Buffy's mother while her father remained AWOL.  He gestured to a chair, and sat on the sofa opposite it.

"Yes, we did," he sighed.  "Maybe we should have waited, but we were concerned we wouldn't be able to keep him here long enough for you to get here."

"And it didn't go well."  It was not a question.

"Actually it didn't go too badly," he admitted, "until we got to Dru's real identity.  He, umm, he didn't take that too well."

"I should think not," Joyce said dryly.  "But he actually wasn't bothered by you being a vampire?  Does he understand what that entails, beyond the diet?"

He kept his voice carefully neutral.  "We didn't go into all the gory details yet, no."  

"Does he realize his daughter will never give him grandchildren?" Joyce continued almost before he had finished speaking.  "That she'll spend the rest of her life in darkness and danger because of you?  Does he even know you almost killed her last spring?"

Angel could feel the anger stirring within him, calling for release.  He fought it savagely; there was nothing to be gained from confronting Buffy's mother, at least not now.  He forced himself to take a deep breath and count to ten.

Then he counted to ten again.  

"Aren't you going to say something?" Joyce finally asked.  "No fervent denials, or protests that he will understand someday?  No insinuations that I'm a horrible mother for not being more understanding?"

At last something Angel could answer; he jumped on it with wild relief.  "I never said you were a horrible mother, Joyce.  Neither did Buffy."

"But you think it," she pushed.  "Because I'm just so prejudiced about my only daughter devoting her life to the undead.  To an undead."

Angel gritted his teeth as he choked out a response.  "She's not 'devoting her life to the undead.'  This isn't missionary work."

"No, that I could tell people about.  And it wouldn't get her killed either."

He considered telling her about some of the missionaries he had dined on in his wilder days, but decided that would be counterproductive.  He settled for yet more placations he knew she would not hear.

"She's careful, and she's the best Slayer there ever was.  She won't get killed; I won't let her."  I can't let her, his heart continued silently.

Joyce stared at him in complete astonishment.  "You won't let her.  You're the reason she's still doing it.  Without you she would have a normal life by now.  Once upon a time you told me that was what you wanted for her."

"I want her to be happy, and she is.  With me."  It felt good to admit that at last.  In fact, it felt so good he followed it up with a few more overdue admissions.  "I understand her, Joyce; in a way no one else can.  And I can fight by her side, instead of needing to be protected the way a so-called 'normal' man would."

"If she had a normal man in her life, she wouldn't need to be fighting so much.  You attract danger, just by being what you are, and then you congratulate yourself for helping Buffy beat it."

Joyce Summers wasn't blind; she had seen how close the two had become.  But Buffy was young, and love would find her more than once, provided she was alive to be found.  With Angel by her side, she would not be for much longer.
    
    "Angel, I understand why she reached out to you; I really do," Joyce continued in a gentler, and hopefully more persuasive, tone.  "You talk about strength; she talks about it too.  I think that what attracts her, because she missed that feeling of security with Hank."

"I'm not a father substitute, Joyce," Angel growled.  He was getting more than a little tired of Buffy's parents assuming he was only useful as a Hank stand-in.  

"Not exactly; no.  But she depends on your strength; she needs you.  Much more than you need her.  It's not fair to her."

He couldn't believe his ears.  Of all the wild assumptions Joyce had about his relationship with her daughter, this one had to be the craziest.  "Are you serious?  You actually think I don't need her?"

"You can get along without her, Angel.  You have for two and a half centuries, and you will for another dozen after we're all gone."

Angel's jaw tightened at the thought.  Joyce would never know the nightmares he'd had, visions of an eternity spent without Buffy.  He knew they would only have a few brief decades together, and each passing day taught him more about what his future would be like once he was robbed of this bliss by time and mortality.  

He would not, could not, survive it.  Not anymore.

"No," he said flatly.  

"You can and you will," she said, regarding him steadfastly.  "You're immortal; you don't have a choice.  But Buffy doesn't have the luxury of living forever like you do.  She must give up the slaying before it's too late."
    
    Angel closed his mind to the unwitting cruelty of terming immortality a luxury and focused on a more important point.  

"Is it really the slaying itself, Joyce, or the fact that it creates a bond between us?" he asked, curiosity warring with pain.  "I know you worry about her safety, but I almost think you could live with that part of the deal if I wasn't in the picture."

She was fighting the voice inside her that said Buffy's battles had begun long before her romance with Angel.  She was fighting because she had to, because if Angel was not the cause, then his absence would not be the solution.

Keeping that thought firmly in mind, Joyce leaned forward and smiled.  It wasn't a pleasant smile.

"There's one way to find out," she suggested.  

"Not going to happen, not again," he promised her evenly.  "We already tried it.  She was unhappy, I was unhappy, and you were only happy as long as you made yourself buy the act she was putting on.  I think deep down you knew the whole time that it was no good for her, but you couldn't admit it."

"She just needed time, and you wouldn't give it to her!"

"Take it from a guy who's got decades to burn; there's not enough time in the world for Buffy and I to get over what we feel for each other."

Joyce took a deep breath.  This was going to be harder than she'd thought, especially if Angel was telling the truth about Hank's reaction.  Trust her ex-husband to become a fount of understanding just when she needed him to be the stubborn and unreasonable man she divorced.

"I want Buffy to be safe, and happy," she said at last.  She forced herself to speak calmly and rationally, knowing histrionics would only strengthen the vampire's resolve.  "She's lost a great deal the past few years; more than anything she's lost her last few years of childhood.  When she went to college, I thought she was getting another chance.  She was putting the slaying on the back burner and working on having a real life."

"It's not a pot of stew, Joyce.  You can't put slaying on 'the back burner' and expect the demons to wait while you go to a fraternity party."  Angel glanced down at the coffee table, remembering it earlier when it was littered with coffee cups and crumb-covered napkins.  "I know she had to grow up fast, but she can't go back.  No one can.  She's seen real evil, she's felt it, and nothing can wipe that image clean for her.  But she's creating a good life for herself in spite of that evil."  He couldn't help the pride in his voice when he said, "We're doing it together."

"That's not what I want for her," Joyce insisted.

"It's not your decision," Angel shot back, his temper starting to fray around the edges.  "It's not mine either.  You have to respect her choices."

"As much as she thinks she's all grown up, she is still my daughter; my child.  I don't mean to be cruel, but you will never understand what that feels like.  It's a terrible responsibility."

He looked away as he thought of his own responsibilities.  Joyce would never know how truly terrifying being a 'parent' could be.

"I thought we understood each other, Angel.  Last year we agreed that you and Buffy could not work as a couple.  You have no future together.  Have I missed some momentous change in you that now allows for that future?  Are you suddenly human?  Can you give her all the things we agreed she deserves; even something as simple as sunlight?"

Angel could feel all the old insecurities baying like wolves in the back of his mind.  Other than the clause in his curse, nothing physical had changed for him.  He was still a vampire, and life with him would still require substantial readjustment on Buffy's part.  For all the silken threads that bound their lives together, there were many things they would never share, and a part of him would always regret their lack.

The only thing that had truly changed was his perspective.  He could finally see beyond what they would never have, and rejoice in the things no one could ever take away.

"No, I can't," he said slowly, turning back to meet her eyes.  "Everything you said last year is still true, more or less.  And you were right...but for the wrong reasons."

"You call saving my daughter the wrong reason?"

Something deep within him tightened.  He had long ago given up hope of forgiveness from his own family, but a small part of him had clung to the belief that acceptance from Buffy's family would heal the old wounds.  Now it seemed the rift was only becoming wider, and yet one more chance for redemption was slipping through his grasp.

"The time apart was very hard, on both Buffy and I.  But I think we learned from it, and we're stronger now because of it."

"She was stronger before you came back."

"But you weren't suggesting we separate to give us time to grow," Angel continued in bleak resignation, as though she had never spoken. "You just wanted me gone, because I represented all the uncontrollable aspects of your daughter's life.  And that was wrong."

"Those uncontrollable aspects you talk about so lightly are injuries and death."  Joyce's voice grew tighter with each word.  "Horrible monsters and apocalypses and my daughter crying her eyes out worrying about you."

"If I'm by her side, she won't have to worry about me, will she?  And that's where I plan to be, no matter what you say.  The only one who could make me leave would be Buffy herself, and she's not going to do that."

"Why won't you understand?" she begged.  "I'm not doing this because I hate you, or even because I hate vampires in general.  I do…hate them, I mean, not you.  But that's not why I want you far away from her."

He nodded sadly.  In some ways it would be easier if this were just about him, but he finally realized it was not.  She resisted the whole idea of her daughter as the Slayer, and since she couldn't hate Buffy for her inescapable fate, he had become the focus of that anger.

"I do understand, Joyce.  Better now than ever. But it doesn't change anything.  You want her to be someone she's not.  Somehow you need to find a way to appreciate who she is, and who she can be."  He smiled gently.  "If you could just see her the way I do...you'd be amazed."

* * * * *

Willie rebounded off of the paneled wall, his feet holding him up for just enough time to give him the illusion of balance, and then he pitched forward again.  A part of him was hoping to land face first on the floor, but as luck would have it, the Slayer caught him by the collar again and held fast.

"Okay Willie, one more time.  Dru isn't at her hotel, so where is she?  I know you must know; she doesn't exactly creep through town on little cat's feet.  She likes to make a big splash."

"I'm serious," he protested.  "I didn't even know she was in Sunnydale until you told me.  She doesn't go to dives like this. It was always Spike who came in when they were in town."

Buffy held onto him, staring closely into his dilated pupils.  She could feel the fear stirring within him, and she knew it was sufficient to overcome his greed.  The strange part was that it didn't seem to be fear of her, but rather of Drusilla.

With a snort, she released her deathgrip on his collar and pushed him backward against the wall.  "Fine; you're completely out of the loop.  You had no idea she was here.  Now that you do know, though, where do you think she could be hiding?"

He raised his hands in surrender.  "When it comes to that dame, I prefer, as they say, to remain uninvolved.  Uninvolved, unnoticed and un-undead; that's my motto."

"Come on, Willie.  Everyone knows knowledge is power, and a little guy like you needs all the weapons he can get."

"And sometimes the best weapon is knowing when to not know anything.  I'm being straight with you kid; I can't help you.  She hasn't been in, and if she's hanging with any of Angel's old crowd they're keeping quiet about it.  I know it goes against the grain, but maybe this time you'll have to let her bring the fight to you."

"That's just what I'm trying to avoid," Buffy answered grimly.

* * * * *

To Be Continued


	7. Chapter 7

**Anam Cara**

**Part Seven**

By Gem

"Doyle, I tell you, something is up."

Cordelia fumbled in her purse for the keys she had cleverly stolen back from Buffy in the car.  She glanced over her shoulder at Doyle, the look on his face driving all thoughts of keys from her head.

"What?  You know something: I can tell by that guilty look on your face.

Doyle shrugged and tried to project an innocence he hadn't felt since his first confession.  "I don't know much more than you do, darlin.  Something bad from Angel's past cropped up at the same time they were fixing to tell Buffy's dad about that past."

"And he didn't give you any idea what that big bad was?  As though it needed to be even more than a little bitty bad, the way things are going."  Her hand closed over the keys in her bag and she drew them out slowly as she continued, "I mean, telling Hank the truth?  Whose dumb idea was that?"

"Does it matter?"  Doyle reached out and gently pulled the key ring from her fingers.  "We're going to knock this time, and give them a chance to say no.  There's no telling if they're still...telling."

Cordelia agreed with a surprisingly quick nod, and Doyle knocked on the door.  Neither of them was expecting Willow to answer the door.

"Hey guys," said the witch, "welcome to Sunnydale High Library East."

* * * * *

Hank blindly followed Drusilla's lithe form through the open doorway and into the Great Hall.  His mind was numb after being bombarded by so much confusing information, and he was fighting an overwhelming feeling of hopelessness.  The world as he knew it no longer existed.

Drusilla ushered him over to a long sofa and pulled back a corner of the dark red sheet covering it.  She patted the exposed cushion and smiled encouragingly at him.

"Now pet, you must sit down and tell me what has upset you so.  Drusilla can't fix things if she doesn't know what the problem is."  

Her tone was sweet and soothing, her smile looked so sincere.  Hank gazed deep into her dark eyes and wondered how he could ever have believed his daughter at all.  Buffy couldn't be right about this woman; she just couldn't be.  She meant well, and she certainly must believe what she said, but she was wrong.

She had to be, for both their sakes.

"I, umm, I just had a very difficult conversation with my daughter."  His words came out slowly, each one dragged to the surface by the twin magnets of Drusilla's eyes.  "She and her boyfriend, that is to say your brother..."

"My Angel," Dru said simply.

"Yes, your, umm, Angel, he and Buffy have some very strange ideas about you, and I know they can't be true," he finished in a rush.  "It's not possible; it's not.  I don't know how to explain what he did with his face, but it can't be what he said because if that part is true the rest of it is true too, and that just can't be."

"Your thoughts are all a muddle, love."  Drusilla laughed delicately as she ran a cool hand down his cheek.  "You must calm down.  Breathe."  

She forbore from adding, "While you still can," only with the greatest exercise of willpower.

"I know, I know," he said, making an effort to slow his racing thoughts.  "It's hard to do, though; especially in this place.

"You don't like it?" she purred.

"It's so gloomy, and it looks abandoned.  Why did you want to come here?"

Drusilla's eyes wandered around the chilled and cheerless expanse.  Once she had considered this place a tomb, fit only for the living.  No moldering flowers lay on the floors awaiting her busy and destructive fingers; no rusty iron gate swung to and fro in a high wind filling the air with lovely creaking sounds; no sarcophagi were at hand to play naughty games on top of.  This was almost a home; it had furniture, and a fireplace, and windows.  

Windows, of all things.  How unutterably human could a vampire lair get?

Today, however, she saw her refuge in a more romantic light.  Cold, grey, stone, walls surrounded them on all sides.  The sheets Angel had taken care to throw sheets over the plain wooden furniture before he left Sunnydale had not held the dust at bay for long; a fine silt had crept up the legs and drifted across the cushions beneath the linens.  

In the center of the floor, in front of the huge fireplace, there was a whitened flagstone showing in stark contrast to the dark grey of the surrounding squares.  Beneath the stench of bleach, Drusilla could still smell the faintest remnants of blood, and the stronger scent of despair.

She smiled brightly at Hank.  "This used to be my home; mine and my Angel's. We were very happy here once."

Hank raised an eyebrow, trying to imagine what she could see that he did not.  "It's big," he said as he took a seat on the sofa.  "Lots of room to move around.  And I suppose it's actually brighter than you'd expect considering those tiny little windows so high up on the wall.  Kind of reminds me of the windows in Buffy and Angel's new place."  He stared at the windows anew as a sickening thought was born in his mind.  "Those windows, they don't let in a lot of direct light, do they?"

"Oh hardly any," she assured him, her eyes two wide and fathomless wells of darkness. 

And now the fun could finally begin, she silently rejoiced.

* * * * *

Buffy trudged wearily down the hall to her apartment, dreading the look on Angel's face when she told him the news.  Bad enough to know that she failed her father.  But to have to watch Angel bear the shames of sins he never committed coming back to haunt him, knowing she was the instrument of their delivery...she couldn't even let the images come together in her head.

She had hunted high and low for Hank, scouring any place Angel remembered as a favorite haunt of Drusilla's.  She had seen more mausoleums, funeral parlors and doll museums in the past two hours than she would have ever believed possible.  And yet, for all her searching, her father remained among the missing.

All she wanted to do was hide in the circle of Angel's arms until they could figure a way out of this mess.  A way that would keep her father safe, and Angel at peace, and her mother at bay.

As usual, the universe had a little something different in mind for her afternoon.  A steady hum of voices greeted her as she pushed open the door.

Giles was jotting random words and symbols on a freestanding whiteboard, muttering to himself as he "consulted his books."  Anya and Xander were sitting side by side on the floor, Xander taking notes on what Anya read to him.  Willow and Cordelia were on the sofa jockeying for control of Willow's laptop, while Doyle tried to settle the dispute reasonably.  Oz watched those three silently from his own chair, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips whenever Willow succeeded in seizing the computer.

Joyce sat in the wingback chair she had earlier claimed as her own, an unopened book on her lap and a look of complete confusion on her face.

Angel hurried over to greet Buffy as she walked in, and even in the middle of the disaster that was currently her life, she could feel her heart skip a beat at the sight of him.

"Any luck?" he asked quietly, although he already knew the answer from the look in her eyes.

She shook her head as she tossed her bag on the table and closed the door.  "Nope, not a nibble.  And I don't mean that in the good sense of not, if you know what I mean.  I checked everywhere you suggested, and I even worked Willie over to see what he knew.  No one knows a thing."

"Then we need to think of some new places," he said stubbornly.  "Just give me a few minutes and..."

"Are you sure she wouldn't go to the mansion?"  Buffy knew how much Angel hated to even think about his old 'home' after the last night they spent there together, but the situation was growing desperate.

Angel shook his head, trying to clear away the bad memories at the same time.  "No," he stated firmly.  "Dru hated that place.  She pretended to like it to please me, but I know it gave her the creeps."

"She's a vampire, Angel," Buffy scoffed.  "You mean to tell me the Mistress of Pain is afraid of a house?"  She clapped her hands together.  "Ooh, now I know how to get her.  We'll drug her up and ship her back east to Amityville.  What's her position on flies?"

"She has to be somewhere in town," Angel insisted, ignoring her sarcasm.  He knew only too well what it was designed to cover up. "She wouldn't take him away because then we couldn't see what she was doing."

Buffy steeled herself to look into his eyes, the eyes that always told her the truth no matter how much it hurt.  Silently she begged him to take away the fear that plagued her.  "Unless she's already...done something.  And now she just has to wait for him to..."

"No!"  He grabbed her arm, not noticing the attention they had suddenly attracted from the rest of the room.  "Don't think like that.  I know it sounds crazy to think of this as a positive, but she only wants to kill him.  She doesn't want to sire him."

"How can you be sure?"  She held up her hand before he could answer.  "And don't tell me that's what you would have done, because even when you were him you didn't think like her."

"She wants a father, Buffy.  If she sires him, it would be like Spike all over again.  Her little boy."

"Oh, now I'm going to be ill," Xander said.

Angel concentrated all of his energies on his beloved, forcing the presence of Xander and the rest of the Scoobies to the back of his mind.  He raised a hand to brush away the tears that suddenly appeared at the corners of Buffy's eyes, and then decided to brush them away with his lips instead.  She gratefully slipped into his sheltering arms, burying her face in the reassuring solidity of his chest.

"I know this is hard, but we have to play this out to the end," he whispered.  "We tried to warn him, and that didn't work.  So now we're going to have to let her set the scene, and then turn the tables on her."

To anyone else his tone might have sounded completely confident, but Buffy could hear the underlying fear.  He was doing his best to buoy both of their spirits, and she owed it to him to do her part.  In keeping with that idea, she resolutely stepped out of his embrace, though she took firm hold of his hand.

"You're right; we can't panic now."  She drew a shuddering breath, and then another, steadier one.  "So where do we stand?"

"Full research mode, Buff."  Xander gestured around the room with his book.  "Since Angel can't come out and play until after dark, we brought Giles' library to him.  Not to mention Will's computer," he raised his voice, "that some people can't learn to share."

Cordelia glared at him.  "Is it my fault Buffy made Angel get a PC for this place?  I'm used to a Mac, and that's what Willow has.  I see no reason why I should have to make all the sacrifices here."

"And I think Cordelia should leave the computer research to the professionals," Willow huffed.  "I mean I always do the Net Girl gig.  It's my job.  When did she learn 'delete' from 'deliver'?"

"And don't think I've forgotten that one, Rosenberg."  Cordelia made another grab for the laptop, this time succeeding in wresting it from Willow's grasp.  "Besides, I do all of Angel's computer research now.  Somebody has to do it while he and Buffy are out beating the bad guys senseless."

"Now Cordy..." Doyle began.

It was time to call in reinforcements.

"Buffy..." Willow said plaintively, only to be drowned out by Cordelia.

"Angel..."

"Yikes! And you've been putting up with this for how long?"  Buffy glanced up at Angel, grateful to have a reason for at least a small smile.

He rubbed his aching head. "Are we talking actual time, or how long it seems like?  Because in VR terms, it's been at least a decade or two."

"Suddenly so grateful we're not having kids."  Buffy turned to face both her friends, but not before she saw the surprise in Angel's eyes brighten into gratitude.

"Okay ladies, and believe me I'm using the term loosely right now."

"Hey!" Cordelia and Willow protested in unison.

"Great, you've found unity in fighting a common enemy.  Now can we go with that idea, but turn it on Dru instead?"  Buffy's tone was light, but there was no mistaking the steel in her eyes.

"Sorry," Cordelia mumbled, staring intently at her shoe.

"Me too."  Willow tried to meet Buffy's gaze, but found it easier to apologize to her best friend's left shoulder instead.

"Look, everyone is a little edgy right now."  Angel squeezed Buffy's hand.  "And it doesn't help that we've had zero luck in finding any references to other Gems of Amara."

"Who knew there was a whole collection?  I mean, Anya watches the Home Shopping Network all the time and she's never once mentioned seeing them for sale."  Xander tossed his latest useless book on the pile under the coffee table, much to Giles' dismay.

"Xander, would you please try to be a bit more careful with a book that was written before Guttenberg invented moveable type?"

"The American Werewolf in London invented moveable type?"  Xander put his hand to his cheek as he feigned astonishment.  "Who'd have thought?  Guess he had trouble holding a pen in his paws."

"Hey, no werewolf jokes," Willow said sternly.

"Actually, I think it was David Naughton who played the werewolf," Joyce commented, trying to contribute to the conversation.  "I remember I had a bit of a crush on him."

"I've always been oddly disturbed by that movie," Oz said, politely disregarding Joyce's correction as he pursued his own train of thought.

"Well, yeah, the end...I mean the silver bullets and all."  Willow shivered.  "I'm not surprised it would bother you."

"Steve Guttenberg was in the "Police Academy" movies," Joyce said helplessly, still trying to steer them back to reality.

"No, I think it was the overuse of the moon imagery in the soundtrack," Oz continued thoughtfully.

Giles patted Joyce sympathetically on the shoulder.  "I shouldn't take it personally if I were you.  They do it to me all the time"

Angel released Buffy's hand and threw himself into a chair.  "It's been like this since they got here.  I'd forgotten how they all feed each other straight lines." He grimaced as he ran his hand through his hair.  "Meanwhile, we've plowed through just about everything Giles has that refers to talismans and enchanted objects, and nothing.  Same for spells."

"We've checked the obvious references, Angel, but we still have the more arcane texts to search."  Giles smiled sympathetically.  "Don't lose hope now."

"Arcane is not the answer, Giles.  I think we've been going about this all wrong."  Angel stood up quickly and began to pace, suddenly energized by his revelation.  "Dru didn't find this...this whatever-it-is through research; she can barely read.  It had to be word of mouth."

"Drusilla can barely read?"  Cordelia looked genuinely surprised.  "How come?"

"She was born in Victorian England," Angel paused in his ramblings to explain.  "She was one of several children in a lower middle class family, and a girl at that.  She didn't need to know more than the basics."

Xander glanced at his centuries-old girlfriend.  "But Anya can read, and she's way older than Drusilla."  A moment later he realized his error.  "I so did not mean that the way it sounded, An."

Anya sniffed at him, but chose to answer his question anyway.  "I taught myself.  In my day...my human days, that is...I mean my first human..."

"We get it!" Cordelia snapped.

"Almost no one could read," Anya continued icily.  "Class had nothing to do with it.  Religion was the field to go into if you wanted to be educated.  Or witchcraft.  You can only memorize so many spells before you have to start writing them down."

"I hear you," Willow said with feeling.

"I learned to read Greek and Latin as a boy, but it wasn't until I regained my soul that I learned to read English."  Angel crooked an apologetic smile in Giles' direction.  "Our parish priest was also the schoolmaster; he said he might as well teach us to speak in tongues as to teach us to read the language of the devil himself.  And he was forbidden from teaching Irish, so all we had left were the classics."

Angel suddenly felt Buffy's hand on his cheek.  His smile turned warmer as he gazed down at her and softly asked, "What?"

"You've always made this big deal out of the age difference.  I think that's the first time I've heard you talk about it casually, almost kind of proudly.  I like it."  She stood on tiptoe and pulled his head down for a kiss as he folded her in his arms.

"Okay, that was real sweet and all, but on behalf of the hormone patrol, can I request a stand-down until we're back at DefCon 5?"  Xander looked around the room for support.  "All right people, once again, let's see a show of hands on the 'no hands' issue."

Angel reluctantly released Buffy, after a final kiss on her brow.  "Forget the vote; we'll behave.  Anyway, my whole point was that Dru isn't capable of doing the kind of research those who have had the benefit of a public school education can."

"And score one for the grumpy old guy who doesn't want to pay his school taxes."  Cordelia smiled at her boss.  "So where do we look if we can't find it in a book?"

"Reach out and touch someone."  A plan began to form in Angel's head.  "Doyle, you take my cell phone and start calling all your pals.  The demons, not the humans.  When my phone loses its charge, take Buffy's."  He glanced over at his lover.  "They're both on the table by the door, right?"

She nodded, his plan taking shape in her head as well.

"Anya," Angel continued, "while Doyle is on the cells in the guestroom, you take the portable phone into our room.  I need you to call all of your friends from the old days."  An uneasy thought suddenly struck him.  "You did have some, didn't you?"

"Friends?" she asked brightly.  "Well, not technically speaking; no.  You know how it is; being a vengeance demon makes it hard to socialize.  The women are all afraid you know more about their mate than they do, and the men are all just plain afraid, I guess."  She paused.  "But I do know lots of secrets I could use as blackmail.  Will that help?"

Angel viewed her enthusiasm with some misgiving, but there really wasn't a choice.  "Whatever gets the job done," he agreed, with the quickest of winces.

"We're on it."  Doyle nodded his thanks to Buffy as she handed him the cell phones.  A moment later he disappeared into a bedroom, with Anya following suit.

"Now for the rest of you."  Angel turned in a circle round the room, scouting their options.

"Cordelia should stay here and check out the demon databases," Buffy said decisively.  "Just in case there's some sort of Amara homepage or something that we've missed."

"Hey, just a second," Willow protested.  "When did she become the Little Surfer Girl?"

"Will, I need you with me," Buffy explained quickly.  "You and Oz and I are going to the Magic Box to get some protective mojo, and to sound the owner out about this Amara-wannabe.  You're the token witch, Will.  I need you on this."

"Oh."  

"Take the convertible this time," Angel offered. "I'm certainly not going to need it for the next few hours, and it's faster if you need a quick getaway."

She nodded, looking around for his key ring.

"Meanwhile, Giles, you and Xander should hit the streets and see if you can turn up any trace of Hank," Angel decided.  "We may still be able to find him before we have to face Dru."

Xander looked to Giles, but when the older man seemed unwilling to speak for them, Xander volunteered.

"Sure thing big guy, but, umm, you want to give us a picture or something?  Because I don't know about Giles, but I've never actually met Buffy's dad."  His smile was surprisingly gentle as he corrected his former enemy.

"Okay, strike that plan." Angel began to pace again.

"Actually, Buffy, I rather think I might be more useful if I go with you."  Giles tried to sound offhanded, but there was a certain underlying eagerness his Slayer did not miss.

"What's up, Giles?  Is there something funky about the Magic Box?"  She caught Angel's arm as he stalked by and forced him to stop and listen.

"Well, nothing demon-related, per se," her Watcher answered, not quite meeting Buffy's eyes.  "I think that the owner might be more responsive to me, that's all. I've been, umm, spending a bit more time there since you started going to Los Angeles on the weekends, and we've become friends.  He, umm, he has been trying to convince me to buy the shop actually.  Now that I have so much free time on my hands."

Buffy raised her eyebrow, but decided to save her ribbing for later.  "Sure thing.  Oz, why don't you stay with Xander and," she glanced at Joyce, "my mom, I guess, and finish up with the books?"

"Interesting choice for study buddies, but it's cool."  Oz temporarily abandoned his chair to kiss Willow goodbye, and then resumed his seat and page.

"Thanks to all that construction in the sewers, I'm grounded till sunset," Angel said quietly to Buffy.  "But as soon as it's dark, I want to check out some of Angelus' old hangouts.  We might be able to rattle a few cages and get some info there."

"I can go now," she offered, seeing the quick flare of shame at the mention of his alter ego.

Angel shook his head, though he half-smiled in tribute to her fierce protective instincts.  "No, they won't talk to you alone.  They might not talk to me, for that matter.  But if we tackle them together, maybe, just maybe, we can make them talk to us."

"I like the sound of that.  The 'we' part that is, not the tackling demons part."  

"Me too."  He slipped his arms around her.

For a moment she allowed herself to savor the security of his embrace, to bask in the shelter she had imagined during the lonely hours spent searching for her father.  The only true peace she knew in this world lay within Angel's love for her, made manifest by his touch.  She knew for Angel it was the same.

Their time together, however, must necessarily be divided between love and duty, and her father counted as both.

"I have to go," she murmured into his neck.  Angel didn't answer, but his arms loosened, and she was forced to make good her word.  With palpable regret she stepped away from him and grabbed her purse.  A quick gesture to Giles and Willow to follow her, and she was gone.

Angel stared at the closed door, until Xander's words snapped him out of it.

"So Mr. DeMille, what are you going to do now that the parts are all assigned?"

"You mean until the sun sets and I can actually be useful?"  Angel scowled at the curtained windows. "I'm waffling between going to DisneyWorld or going crazy," the vampire muttered, heading towards the kitchen.  

"Yeah, well, could you bring back some coffee on the return trip?" Cordelia asked, waving her empty cup in the air without lifting her eyes from the computer screen.  "I'm dry."

"Could you please keep it down," Anya yelled as she poked her head out of the bedroom door.  "I'm on the phone."  She directed her attention back to the receiver.  "Hey, Aelefthelea, how are you?  It's Anyanka. Long time no...good, good.  So, hey, how did that suppurating pustules spell I gave you...you never paid me for it, so yes I do mean 'gave'..." Anya disappeared back into the bedroom and closed the door to finish her negotiations.

"That's my little demon," Xander said admiringly.

"So she really is a demon?" Joyce asked quietly.  "I've heard you all making comments about her, and that Mr. Doyle, but he, I mean they...they seem perfectly nice.  I don't understand."

"Well Doyle is actually only half-demon," Cordelia explained off-handedly.  "But he's a good kind of demon anyway.  And Anya, well," she glanced mischievously at her ex-boyfriend, "I guess she's okay, for a recovering vengeance demon.  Except for that lack of tact thing.  Does anyone else find that annoying?"

"Maybe it's time to rethink the no drinking plan," Angel grumbled as he abruptly changed direction and opened the door to the training room.  "At least then I'd have a fun reason for this pounding headache."

* * * * *

"So after we pick the Magic Box owner's brain, in a strictly non-demony figurative sense, what do we do, Buffy?"  Willow glanced over at her unusually quiet best friend, taking note of the tight lips and creased brow that appeared once she was out of Angel's sight.

"I'm not sure," the Slayer sighed.  She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel as they waited for the light to change.  "I wanted to catch her before she found us, so we'd have the upper hand, but I've looked everywhere Angel thought she might be and no soap.  We have to wait it out now, and try to figure out where we have the best advantage in a fight.  And when."  She pounded her fist on the wheel to intimidate the stubborn traffic light.  "I mean, everything in me says to get this over with fast, but at the very least we have to wait for sundown so Angel can be there.  He needs the closure."

"I never really though about how hard this must be on him too.  I mean, you said he gets along with your dad, and of course he's worried about him for your sake too, but to know that it was a vamp that he made that is doing this..."  Willow shook her head.

"He just feels so responsible."  Buffy's worried thoughts traveled back to the look in Angel's eyes earlier that day when she offered to restore Drusilla's soul.  "There's no way out anymore except to dust her, but he's never come to terms with creating her in the first place, so now he feels like he's failed her twice."

"But it's not his fault, not really," Willow protested.  

"And he knows that, or at least his head does.  But that damn conscience of his says that everything bad that's happened since the Revolutionary War is his fault."

The light changed at last and the Belvedere lurched forward.  Willow waited a few moments before she tried to change the subject.

"You and Cordy seemed to be getting along really well," the witch said.  She kept her eyes focused on the streets rolling past her window, avoiding the troubled gaze of her best friend.  "I know you said she spent a lot of time with Angel, but I didn't realize the four of you like double-dated or something."

"It's not quite like that," Buffy said, smiling with relief at the momentary distraction.  "But she's been a really good friend to Angel, and I am so grateful for that.  And she's changed; she's changed a lot."  She checked in her rearview mirror, concerned she might have lost Giles at the yellow light she just ran.  He was, however, still reassuringly guarding her back.

"She seems really protective of him," Willow agreed.  "You should have seen her with your mom."  A giggle escaped her as she turned to face Buffy again.

Buffy looked suddenly wary.  "What did she do?" she asked slowly.

"Well, when Oz and I got there, Giles was just arriving, and Angel was alone with your mom, trying really hard not to talk.  I think they'd had a fight," she confided.  "Anyway, Giles started handing out books, and then Xander and Anya showed up, and then Cordelia and Doyle and we all started researching.  Except your mom, that is.  She just sat there looking, I don't know, bewildered I guess."

"Mom used to be more supportive," Buffy said.  Her eyes were fixed on the car ahead of her, but her mind saw only the past.  "Ever since I got back together with Angel, though, and started to take my slaying more seriously again, she's been getting more and more down on it.  And him, of course."

"She sat there and watched us for the longest time, until finally I guess Cordy had enough.  She, Cordy I mean, grabbed the book Giles was reading, in mid-sentence no less, and dropped it in your mom's lap."  The witch's sympathetic smile turned into another giggle.  "She just stood there for a sec, staring down at your mom, and then she said that there were people sitting on the floor trying to work and if your mom was going to hog a chair the least she could do was help."

"And my mom actually obeyed?" Buffy shook her head and laughed as she rejoined the present.  

"She knew she met her match," Willow said with mock solemnity.

"That's pretty much what she does with Angel when he gets in a mood," Buffy explained.  "Not that he gets that way much anymore; he's changed a lot too.  And although I hate to admit it, I think a lot of that is due to Cordy.  Well, Doyle too."

"And has nothing to do with you, of course."

Buffy grinned as she negotiated the sharp turn into the alley that ran alongside the Magic Box, leading to the parking lot.

"I might have had a little something to do with it," she admitted.  "It's just so good to see him happy, Will; it's all I ever really wanted."

"And you're happy too," Willow said wistfully.  "Your new life, I mean."

The convertible slid to a stop in the gravel parking lot.  Buffy quickly shut it off and unsnapped her safety belt so she could sit sideways on the bench seat.

"Yeah, I am very happy," Buffy said softly.  "And I'm excited about the future we're planning.  But that doesn't mean I don't miss you guys already.  You and Xander were the first friends I made in this town, and there weren't many brave enough to follow you."

Willow shrugged.  "Their loss."

"Some nights when I'm with Angel I'll wake up and I can't believe how things have changed.  I can't believe you guys are two hours away and I won't see you at the café between classes, or for a bad Indian movie and stale cheesepuffs that night in my living room."  Buffy leaned over and hugged Willow fiercely.  "I miss you guys; I really do.  But those nights when I wake up...I can feel him lying beside me, and I start to think of all the nights he wasn't there.  Nights when I didn't know when I would see him again, or even if.  Those were the worst nights of my life."

"I know," Willow mumbled, digging her chin into Buffy's shoulder.

"I'm not saying we won't be back here, maybe even permanently someday.  But even with Cordy and Doyle being in LA, Angel and I are still more on our own there, and we need that right now." The Slayer pulled back, but she clung tightly to Willow's hand.  "We need a little selfish time to be just 'Buffy and Angel,' not 'Buffy and Angel and Ensemble.'  However much we love the ensemble."

"Well, as long as you don't start to like Cordy better than me," Willow said, exaggerating a tremble in her voice to tease her friend.  "Especially with her learning that a computer monitor is more than just a spare makeup mirror...I was starting to feel replaced."

Buffy laughed and squeezed her best friend's hand.  "There is only room for one Willow in my life," she promised.

"If you ladies are quite finished bonding," Giles said, "I believe we have some talismans to purchase."  He stood by Buffy's door, not quite tapping his foot but still managing to convey extreme impatience.

Buffy slid back across the seat and pushed open her door, forcing Giles back a pace.  "Never underestimate the value of a little bondage, Giles.  And no, I won't tell you where I learned that one."  

"Thank you," he said fervently.

"So why are you suddenly Happy Shopping Guy?" Willow asked curiously as she came around to Buffy's side of the car.  "Can't wait to get back to your books, huh?"

"Nah," Buffy drawled as she watched her Watcher fidget.  "He wants to get in there and do some bigtime shopping.  Like buying out the store, and then the store too, kind of shopping."

"I have made no decision as yet," Giles said haughtily.  "It was simply an idea I tossed around a bit.  I'm sure it will lead to nothing.  I'm quite sure I don't want it to."

"It's okay, Giles," Buffy soothed him.  "We believe you.  And that extra three inches your nose just grew looks very good on you."

* * * * *

"Angel, I think I've got it."  Doyle hurried back into the living room, glancing around the room for his friend.  "Where did Angel go?" he asked Xander anxiously.

"Training room," Xander mumbled, not looking up from his book.  "I think he said something about pounding out a headache."  His forehead wrinkled as he gave more thought to his answer.  "Can vampires even get headaches?  I thought it was a blood flow thing."

"Nerve endings," Cordelia absently corrected him.  "I asked him about it too, a long time ago.  He made some comment about no one's nerve endings being dead enough to ignore Doyle and I fighting."  Her fingers continued to skim over the keyboard as she scanned the screen for any useful information.

"Can't imagine why he'd get one today," Doyle said grimly.  "It's been so nice and peaceful around here."

"Willow started it," Cordelia protested, her attention abruptly diverted from demons to defense.  

"What did you find?" Joyce asked, cutting through Cordelia's sharp reply with her quiet voice.  "Is it this Amara stone you've all been talking about?  The one that's supposed to make Drusilla invincible?"

"Well that would be a yes and a no, if it is indeed the right stone," Doyle hedged.  "Let me get Angel and I'll tell you all the tale my mate told me."

"We should wait until Buffy gets back."  Cordelia met Xander's surprised eyes with a shrug.  "What? We're getting along pretty well these days.  After all, I'm the one who got them back together."

"So you're the one," Joyce said slowly.

"Cordy's in trouble, Cordy's in trouble," Xander chanted gleefully, until subdued by glares from both Joyce and Cordelia.

Cordelia returned her attention to Joyce after Xander was silenced.  "Yes, I brought them back together," the former May Queen said proudly.  "Angel was scaring the tourists by shaking his brood thing all over town, and I knew Buffy wasn't doing any better.  Somebody had to do something."

Joyce was starting to get annoyed with all these people telling her how little she knew about her own daughter.  They made her feel like she was still on the outside looking in, as she had been for the first few years of Buffy's 'career' as the Slayer.

"How about giving them time to adjust?" she suggested, a hint of tightness in her tone.  "How do you know what would have happened if you had let well enough alone?"

"Listen to your own question," Cordelia protested.  "Since when does 'well enough' equal 'happy'?  Well enough just means you decided to take the shortcut off the bridge tomorrow night instead of tonight."

"Buffy was doing fine on her own."

"She was..."

"Enough!" Angel snapped as he walked out of the training room.  "I am not going to argue this all over again, not while Hank is still missing."  

Angel fixed his steely gaze on Joyce, seemingly in complete control of his emotions.  Only Buffy could have seen the hurt lurking beneath the shutters closed over his dark eyes.

"Cordelia is my friend, and she was trying to help me.  She did help me," he corrected himself.  "And whether you choose to believe it or not, she helped Buffy too.  Not to put Buffy in any danger, or rob her of a 'normal life,' and not even just to drive you crazy.  She did it to be nice.  You will do her the same courtesy when you are in my home."

He turned quickly to Cordelia, hoping to head her off before she spoiled his impassioned defense with a little well-deserved gloating.  "And you should...respect your elders."

Cordelia's jaw slackened slightly before she saw the humor of his comment.  "You mean since they don't get much more 'eld' than you."

"Not true," Xander automatically protested.  "Anya's way older than..."

"If you say that one more time, Xander Harris, you will be forced to create your own orgasms."

Xander winced, and then turned to face the music.  "Hi honey.  Calls go well?" he asked, meekly patting the sofa cushion next to him.

Anya tossed her head and ostentatiously sat on the floor.  "They went very well, " she deigned to reply.  "In fact, I think I know what is giving Drusilla her power, and it is a stone."

"You know too?" Doyle stared at her in amazement. 

"You mean you both found out?  I don't understand."  Angel ran his hand through the sweat-dampened spikes of his hair.  "If this stone is so well known, how come we've never heard of it before now?"

"Well, I heard about it from a Nomakis demon named Deswoutna," Anya explained.

Doyle nodded sagely.  "A Nomakis; that explains it.  I heard it from Antowsued."

Anya frowned and quickly began to count something out on her fingers.  "You spell that with an 'e,' right?"  She didn't look up to see Doyle's answer; she was staring intently at her outstretched hands.  "Well, that makes sense."  

"What makes sense?" Angel asked sharply.  "I've never heard of a Nomakis; what are they?"

"Just what you said; they're a they," Anya said simply.  She waggled her fingers at him.  "You can tell them by their names; they're kind of into anagrams.  And crossword puzzles."  She shrugged.  "No accounting for taste."

"Multiple demons in one body," Doyle explained, getting back on topic.  "Well, actually one body and several heads."

"They were very unpopular in the days before telephones were invented, because when you see them in, umm, persons, they all start talking at once and it's kind of like sitting through a Congressional hearing."  Anya shook her head as she remembered some painful past conversations.  "But eight ears are better than two, and obviously they have no secrets from each other.  So if Deswoutna knows about the stone, her sister Antowsued would too."

"Brother," Doyle said quickly.  "I think.  It's actually kind of a moot point with only one body between the four of them."

"Oh ick," said Cordelia. 

"This day has been chock full of fun facts," Xander marveled.  "Who knew there was a Three Heads of Eve demon?"

"So they knew something about a talisman to allow vampires access to daylight?" Angel asked quickly.  Fascinating though this explanation was, he was a student of demonology second, and concerned lover first.

"Don't you want to wait for the others?"  Doyle glanced at Cordelia.  "Cordy seems to think we should."

"You're right, you're right," Angel muttered, turning away to glare once more at the curtained windows.  "I just want to find a way out of this.  Soon.  Every second we delay puts Hank in more danger, and all I can do is sit on the sidelines and talk about it."

Cordelia shoved the laptop onto the sofa cushion next to her and hurried over to Angel's side.  "Hey, we're gonna pull this off, I promise.  We're the Little Sleeping, Dining, Club Car, Caboose and Engine That Could, okay?"  

"Who's the caboose?" Anya asked curiously.

Cordelia ignored Anya as she dragged her best friend over to a chair and forced him into it.  "Sit," she commanded him, "relax and don't, I repeat don't, make us watch another episode of Angel the Amazing Martyr Man. You can wear almost anything, but sackcloth just hangs on you."  

She squeezed his shoulder and smiled at him, reminding Angel of all the friends he and Buffy had to support them.  As further proof of that friendship, she nobly restrained from wiping his sweat from her palms until she had her back to him. 

"I'm just worried about Buffy," Angel confessed, staring down at his folded hands.  "She and her dad have come so far, and I know she blames herself for this.  If it's anyone's fault, it's mine, but..."

"But it's not," Xander said reasonably.  "I know you're the master of guilt and all, and normally I'd be right there backing you up, guy.  But I guess living with a reformed vengeance demon has taught me a few things about casually tossing blame around."

He slid off of the sofa and sat on the floor, not exactly next to Anya, but closer.  To his relief, she didn't move away.

"Yeah, it can get certain people dead if certain other people don't know when the first certain person is kidding."  Cordelia raised an eyebrow at Anya, who smiled angelically and shrugged in reply.

"All I'm saying," Xander continued, after shooting a dirty look at Cordelia, "is that Angelus may have made Dru, but you weren't exactly sitting there waving pompoms and shouting 'go team go!' now were you?"

Cordelia shivered as she sat down next to Doyle.  "Angel and pompoms?  Let's hope not."

"What do you mean 'Angelus' made Drusilla?"  Joyce stared at Angel.  "You're the one who made her a vampire?"

Angel looked confused.  "I thought Buffy told you."

"She told me Drusilla was a vampire," Joyce clarified icily.  "She left out the part about who killed her in the first place."

"Uh oh."  Cordelia's lips twisted in a queasy smile.  

Joyce pushed the book off of her lap onto the floor as she stood up.  Angel, still a prisoner of his 18th century manners, automatically rose with her.  

"I guess I was right when I said you were congratulating yourself for helping Buffy out of the danger you subject her to.  You know, I was actually beginning to feel some sympathy for you; you seemed so upset at the idea of a vampire stalking Hank." Joyce's voice rose in her indignation.  "Now I find out it's because you were the one who created the stalker.  Somehow your guilt no longer seems quite so noble."

"You know, your attitude is really starting to bug me."  Cordelia scowled at Joyce.  "He created a vampire, not all vampires."  She paused for a moment to consider her words.  "Well, okay, so he probably did create more than one, but someone did it to him first.  But did you ever say 'hey, sorry you got killed in a rat-infested back alley' or anything like that?"  She tossed her long dark hair over her shoulder.  "I think not."

"Cordy, she's right," Angel said wearily.  "I made Dru, almost from scratch.  And ultimately I abandoned her, which is why she's after Hank."  He glanced at Joyce, anger briefly surfacing.  "Dru is the one in search of a father figure, not Buffy."

"And if you gave it to her, would she leave my family alone?" Joyce asked evenly.

"The way that I am now?"  Angel sighed.  "No.  She doesn't want this me; she wants Angelus.  And I will never let that side of me have control again."

Joyce watched him silently for a moment, noticing for the first time how very old his dark eyes seemed when her daughter was not around.  Buffy had always spoken of his physical strength and prowess; they were supposed to be a good argument for having Angel in her life.  But she never mentioned the emotional power that seemed to resonate from the vampire, glowing so much brighter when Buffy's flaxen hair was within his sights.  After seeing them together, Joyce could now begin to see what a difference her daughter made in the life of this man.

And that made Joyce mad.

She didn't want to see him as a person; still less as a person she was hurting.  He was safer to regard as a symbol of the life she must steer her daughter away from.  Symbols had no feelings, and symbols didn't need anyone to exist.  They just were.

"I don't care what you have to do, Angel, but you will fix this."  Joyce shoved away the look in his eyes, and the slump of his shoulders, and the nasty looks his friends were giving her.  She pushed aside everything that made him a man in trouble and focused on her daughter's future.  "You made this mess; you clean it up."  

"Yeah, right," Cordelia muttered.  "I can't even get him to clean Mordeth spew off of a leather couch.  And that actually was his fault."  She caught Doyle's frown out of the corner of her eye.  "Well, mostly."

* * * * *

To Be Continued


	8. Chapter 8

**Anam Cara**

**Part Eight**

By Gem

Angel closed his eyes and tilted his head to let the hot water rush down his face.  Normally the sensation would have soothed him, but suddenly the symbolism seemed to make a mockery of his simple pleasure.  He was trying to cleanse himself, to bathe himself in purifying heat and water to erase the stains of the day.  But no water in the world was pure enough to save him now.  

He had believed Fate was giving him another chance; but now it seemed just a cruel trick.  His old sins were coming back to swallow him whole, and a part of him was screaming that he deserved every misery he suffered.  Buffy, however, had done nothing to deserve this, and yet she suffered right along with him.  

Angel opened his eyes as he dropped his head and shook the water from his hair.  This was supposed to be their time; these precious few days, of all days, were supposed to belong to them.  

He could feel the anger building in him as he thought about what was being taken from Buffy, without her knowledge, let alone consent.  It wasn't right, and he would not stand for it.  Somehow he had to look past Dru, and Hank, and Joyce, and whoever the hell else stood in his way, and focus on the plans he had already made for this time.

Focus: that's all he needed to do.  Focus on the future, while keeping a close eye on the present and an even closer eye on his past.

"Oh yeah, piece of cake," he sighed, as the water suddenly turned cold.

* * * * *

The visit to the Magic Box had proved useless, except perhaps for Giles.  Although Buffy had been the one to suggest the purchase of protective powders and potions, it was more of a pro forma gesture; she didn't really have much faith in their ability to deter a foe as tenacious as Drusilla.  And the owner of the store, who was usually almost as informative as Willie, but cheaper, proved a wasteland when it came to the concept of vampires and sunlight.

He did, however, make a very tempting final offer on the store as a whole.  Giles, in his haste to get an increasingly edgy Buffy away from so many mystical, and highly breakable objects, accepted without a second thought.  The preliminary papers were signed and a closing date was set before the Watcher even knew what hit him.

Willow was full of commentary on the deal on the way back to the apartment, but Buffy had little to offer in response.  Her thoughts were slowly circling inwards, a funnel cloud of worry and fear spiraling downward to the source.  

Drusilla.

The vampire had to be stopped, for once and for all, but the longer Buffy had to imagine the inevitable, the harder it became to face.  Judging by Hank's reaction to the truth about Dru, her father's feelings were much deeper than he was willing to admit.  She didn't like to think about him having romantic notions about anyone but her mother, least of all one of Angel's old girlfriend's.  Still, his emotions could not be ignored or belittled.

And somewhere out there, Spike was waiting in the wings.  He couldn't harm Buffy in his current chip-challenged state, but Angel's inner demon left him fair game.  In fact, if it weren't for Spike's overwhelming instinct for self-preservation, Buffy might be tempted to hunt him down first and send him to join Dru just to be on the safe side.  Fortunately for her bleached blond nemesis, she couldn't honestly believe he would be foolish enough to take her on just to revenge himself on Angel.

Angel; he was the real concern.  Ending Dru's existence would put paid a very deeply buried hope for him; one Angel had never admitted aloud, and Buffy had been too slow to see before now. 

It wasn't until this morning, when Hank mentioned seeing Drusilla in the sunlight, that Buffy had seen the thought surface.  It was there one moment and gone the next, but she knew her beloved well enough now to read the truth in his dark eyes, however fleeting its presence might be.  

For just one instant Angel believed Dru might be human again.

As long as she existed, Drusilla carried with her the possibility of his redemption.  It didn't matter that Angel knew on a conscious level she could never recover her sanity.  And it didn't matter that he could never restore that which he had stolen from her.  As long as she existed, a tiny hidden part of him could imagine that somehow, someway, there was a magical right for the wrongs he had done her.  

She was his greatest sin, and nothing Buffy could do would truly assuage the wounds Dru's existence, and her inevitable lack of existence, created within Angel.  He would have to live with it, and Buffy would have to live with him living with it.

And that was the part of being an adult that made Buffy want to barricade herself in her blanket fort until Mr. Gordo said it was safe to come out.

* * * * *

"Buffy, I found your gem," Anya said anxiously as soon as the Slayer walked in the apartment door.  "Well, Doyle helped too, but I think I found it out first.  And I certainly had to talk to more annoying demons than he did."

"You found it?"  Buffy looked from one face to the other, not seeing the one she really needed to see.  "Where's Angel?"

"He's in the shower, thank God," Cordelia said fervently as she stood up and stretched.  "Or at least he was until Xander decided to wash a glass for the first time in his life and diverted all the hot water to the kitchen sink."

Xander cleared his throat, glancing nervously around the room to see who had heard her remark.  "I thought we decided that was going to be our little secret, Cor."

"So now you have secrets with old girlfriends," Anya said, her lower lip beginning to tremble.

He patted her on the shoulder. "Just the ones that will keep Angel from hurting me, An."

Cordelia rolled her eyes, but decided to withhold comment, at least for now.  Turning back to Buffy, she continued, "Angel put in some time beating up the nasty punching bag for making him stay indoors on such a nice day.  Naturally, he worked up quite a sweat teaching it who's boss."  She paused, remembering Angel's disheveled appearance.  "Come to think of it, it's probably a good thing you weren't here; one look at him all worked up and worked out, and you would have been on him like leather on a hot summer day.  Then we'd never get anything done."

"Sweat is a very powerful aphrodisiac," Anya said seriously.  "I prefer Xander sweaty.  When I'm talking to him, that is."  With a loud sniff, she deliberately looked away from her less-than-silver-tongued boyfriend.

"I better go check on him."   Buffy opened the bedroom door as she spoke and slipped inside the dimly lit room.

"No need to mention the whole kitchen sink thing, okay?" Xander called after her.

"Well we're not going to see them for a few more hours.  Especially if he's still in the towel."  Cordelia shook her head and sighed dramatically as she flopped back down on the sofa.

Xander raised an eyebrow.  "I wouldn't make comments like that around Buffy if I were you, Cor.  She's a little possessive."

"Oh please; Angel's like my much, much, much older brother.  Everyone knows that."  She stuck her tongue out at Xander.  "But even Doyle admits the man wears Martha Stewart well."

"I, uh, never actually said that," Doyle quickly interjected.  He glanced from one sympathetic face to another.  "Honest."

"Hang it up, Doyle," Xander advised him with a sigh.  "The more you try to explain, the 'cuter' the girls are going to think it is that you feel the need to explain it."

The Irishman's lips curved up in a slightly goofy grin as he hitched his thumb in his belt loop.  "Really?"

* * * * *

The bedroom was empty when Buffy ducked inside.  She debated the wisdom of cornering Angel in the adjoining bathroom, but decided to wait it out.  The shower had already stopped, and she knew he would not be long.

She turned up the light next to the bed and sat down beside it just as Angel exited the bathroom, wearing only a towel loosely slung around his hips.

"Buffy."

She stood up quickly.  "Hey."

"You are back; I thought so." A spark kindled in his eyes.  "Or maybe I just hoped."

Something warm was stirring deep inside her, brought to life by his voice, and his smile, and the knowledge that he had been waiting for her.  Just her.

"You know, that's the third solo shower for one of us today," she pointed out, taking a step closer to him.  "It's getting to be a bad habit."

He smiled ruefully as he shook the remaining water from his hair. "Little tough to do anything else with half the extras from 'Gone With the Wind' out there.  Speaking of, did they tell you what they found out?" 

She nodded, fighting the urge to slip into his arms.  He was right, and even if there hadn't been a room full of people waiting for them, her father was still missing and in danger.  It would be selfish to think of her own comfort in these circumstances.  

"They told me, but they didn't give me any details.  Or, well, I guess I didn't wait for any.  So what gives?"  

"I don't know," he admitted.  "We decided to wait for you."

She shrugged her shoulders.  "Here I am, in all my present and accounted for-ness."

"I'll be ready in just a minute or two," he promised.  "As soon as I remember where I put that grey shirt."

"Actually, you look pretty good to me as you are."  She would have regretted her ill-timed slip into intimacy, were it not for the little smirk her words brought to his face.

"Somehow I don't think your mother would approve of me coming out like this."    

Buffy's good humor vanished as though it had never been.  She scuffed her foot on the carpet, trying desperately to think of the right thing to say.  

"Oh, yeah, my mom." After an intense study of her big toe, she raised her troubled eyes to meet his. "Angel, I am so very sorry about leaving you here to deal with her.  Twice."

"It was okay.  We got some things...clarified."  He looked away for a moment before gently confronting her.  "Buffy, why didn't you tell her the truth about Dru?"

"The truth about..." Buffy started to ask.  The patient look in his eyes gave her the necessary clue an instant too late.  "Oh, you mean the, umm, whole truth and nothing but the truth.  As in how she got to be what she got to be."

"That would be the truth I'm talking about."  He walked past her to the bed and sat down gingerly on the edge, mindful of his still damp condition.  "I thought we weren't going to keep secrets anymore.  Wasn't that was why we told your dad?"

"Telling Dad was not my idea," she quickly countered.  Her shoulders slumped as she sighed.  "It's just that, well, when all is said and done...my mother is still saying and doing.  She's just so...unreasonable when it comes to you.  I didn't want to give her anything more she would think of as ammunition."

"You and I have come a long way when it comes to honesty, Buffy."  He held her prisoner with his eyes.  "But we have to be as straight with everyone else as we are with each other.  Regardless of what your mom is going to think, you have to respect her enough to be honest with her.  Otherwise the relationship won't work."

She sat on his lap, pushing aside any petty concerns for the state of her clothing, or the people waiting for them.  Comfort was not always a mere pleasure to be indulged; sometimes it was a need that must be fulfilled. She wrapped her arms around his damp chest and clung to him with all her might, offering and taking sustenance from the gesture.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, pressing her forehead to his cheek.  "Bad habit left over from early Slayerhood, I guess.  When in doubt: keep Mom in the dark."

He turned his head so he could brush his lips across her brow. "I'm not going to let you be forced into the middle.  We're all adults; there has to be a way we can work this out."

She closed her eyes and tried to see the future as he did, but the present kept getting in the way.  Mr. Gordo and the blanket fort were looking better all the time, especially if she wasn't camping alone.

"Mmm, you know, aside from the parts where I get to live with you, and I only have to zip up my coat if I really, really want to, being a grown-up kind of stinks."

He buried his face in her hair, marveling at the peace he found in such a simple gesture.  "Yup," he murmured, "that it does."

She smiled as she rubbed her cheek against his shoulder, enjoying the feel of the warm water dappled on his cool flesh.  "Did they even have zippers when you were old enough to not zip up?"

His breath stirred her hair as he chuckled.  "We had buttons.  I can translate."

They sat silently for a few minutes, taking advantage of the rare time alone  
to just be Buffy and Angel.  No sacred obligations existed here; no destinies  
called out greater than the trusting of one heart to another's care.  It was  
their perfect refuge. 

  
Reality, however, was waiting for them just outside the door. 

"Did she, umm, take it well?" she asked hesitantly.

She could feel him instinctively start to pull back within himself, and she hung on for dear life.  "Angel, you know it doesn't matter what she thinks.   I mean, it does, and I wish she'd be rational about all this, but it can't touch us unless we let it.  The same goes for Dru."

"She took it as well as she's taken everything else," he said evasively, ignoring the subject of Dru entirely for the moment.

"Which is to say not well."  Regretfully, Buffy slid off of his lap.  "We probably should go out there.  If Mom is in a snit, the sooner we get this resolved the better."

"Let me dry off and throw on some clothes and I'll join you." He stood up and looked around for the shirt he had pulled from the closet before he went into the shower.

Buffy opened a dresser drawer and began to dig through.  "I need some drying off too now, actually." She stared down at the neatly folded piles, remembering all the times her mother had admonished her to put her clothes away carefully.  It was all part of being an adult, according to Joyce.  

You're old enough to be taking care of your own clothes now, Buffy.  Buffy Anne Summers, you're old enough to know that homework comes first and friends second. Buffy, you're too old to expect that actions don't have consequences.  You're old enough to know better, Buffy.  

You're too young to know what you want, Buffy.

She straightened up and shut the drawer with a swift shove.  "You know what?  I look fine as is."

"You always do," he said with a grin, "just not quite so damp around the edges."

"I don't care," she answered firmly.  "So I'm a little soggy.  So I've been hugging my own boyfriend in my own bedroom of my own apartment.  I'm a grown-up now, right?  I get to do those things too. Let them deal."

Head held high, she stalked over to the door.  Before she could open it, she was stopped by Angel's quiet voice.

"Buffy, would you zip up your coat if I asked you to?"

"Of course."  She smiled sweetly at him.  "Once I got over the shock of you asking me to cover up instead of get undressed."

For an answer, he slipped the towel from around his hips, balled it up and tossed it at her.  She caught it easily and held it to her chest, eyeing him as he waited next to the rumpled bed.

"You don't play fair," she accused him with a smile.  If it were not for her friends and family in the next room, she would be only too willing to take him up on the challenge she saw in his suddenly mischievous brown eyes.

Since their company did exist, however, she opened the door just enough to slide through and closed it behind her.  She leaned against the door, trying to control the slight hitch in her breathing and the flush on her cheeks.  A flush that grew deeper when she realized she was still clutching the towel.

"Decide to take a little shower yourself, Buff?" Xander drawled, glancing pointedly at her clothing.  

She reached behind her to open the door and threw the towel back into the bedroom without looking.  As she slammed the door shut, she drew a deep breath.

"Grow up, Xander."

"Hey, she made it out a lot quicker than I would have bet," Cordelia said cheerfully.  Her brow furrowed with concern a moment later.  "He's not sick, is he?"

* * * * *

Buffy's flush had faded, and her clothes had dried, by the time Angel joined them in the living room.  She slid over on her chair to make room for him as he perched on the arm, his own arm draped over the arched back.

"Did I miss anything?" he asked her quietly.

"You mean aside from a few dirty looks from Mom for my post-your-shower condition, and Giles inventing a new shade of red for the Crayola 96-pack for the same reason?"  She shook her head and reached over to squeeze his leg.  "Not a thing.  We were waiting for you to get to the good stuff."

"And now that we have waited for both of you until my pause button is broken, can we get on with this?"  Xander shifted slightly on the floor, edging over towards Anya.  "Some of us have some heavy-duty groveling still to do."

"Unless some of us enjoy sleeping alone," Anya agreed coolly.

"You said you knew where Dru's sudden tolerance for sunbathing came from.  So what's the deal?"  Buffy glanced from Anya to Doyle, waiting impatiently to see who would break first.

"According to my," Doyle glanced at Anya, "that is to say 'our' sources, there is another Gem of Amara."

"Sort of," Anya qualified.  "It was made by the sorceress Amara, and it is a gem."  Her expression became more animate as she warmed to her subject.  "Did you know she came from a village not too far from mine?  She was born a few centuries after I'd left home, of course.  She became a great sorceress, but she had kind of, well, poor taste in men.  Her lover was the one who turned her."  She shook her head at the perfidy that is man.  "Now there's a woman who could have used a vengeance demon, but I guess she took care of it on her own."

"She beheaded him," Doyle explained with a wry smile that died when he saw the horror on Joyce's face.  "He wasn't a very nice vampire," he added hastily.  "No conscience or anything.  Probably didn't even brush his teeth after he, umm, never mind."

"Just good in bed, but that's what they say about all of them.  Supernatural stamina and all."  Anya looked speculatively at Angel, earning her a glare from Buffy as the Slayer scooted a little closer to her favorite vampire.

"This jewel she created," Angel asked, oblivious to the undercurrents surrounding him, "it does protect against sunlight, right?" 

Doyle and Anya both nodded vigorously.

"Oh yes, it's a great little sunscreen," Anya said cheerfully.

"But that's about all it does," Doyle finished.  "Which is sounding pretty lucky for our side."

Buffy exchanged a puzzled glance with Angel before they returned their attentions to Doyle.  "So it doesn't make her invulnerable to stakes or anything?"  Her hand gripped Angel's leg tightly.  "No super super-powers?  Just a free ticket to the tanning salon of her choice?"

"Good news, eh?"  Doyle grinned, hoping to inspire a similar reaction in his somber friends.

He was, however, destined for disappointment.

"It's, well, it is good news," Angel stammered.  "I mean, I guess it is."  He looked down at Buffy.  "Isn't it?"

She forced her lips to twist into a bright smile.  "Sure, honey.  If she doesn't have any tricks beyond sunbathing, we can take her out without a problem."

"It does seem to take the sport out of it, doesn't it?" Anya mused.  "Perhaps you could fight her one at a time, or maybe blindfolded.  You two blindfolded, I mean.  Not Drusilla.  That would really take the sport out of it."

"This isn't WWE wrestling, Anya.  She's still dangerous."  Willow looked over at Buffy.  "But Anya is right, you know.  Dru's no match for the two of you if all she can do is get a tan without risking skin cancer."

"I know, I know," Buffy answered impatiently.  "We should be grateful her Coeur de L'Amara came out of a Crackerjack box.  I am grateful.  It's just..."

"That it won't replace the gem that Angel destroyed," Giles finished gently.

The chorus of "ohs" around the room told him the collective light had dawned for the Scoobies.  

"Well, I can see why that bothers Buffy," Willow said hesitantly, "but Angel, what about you?  Would you really want to be invincible?  I mean it looks like fun on TV, but I don't think Superman was a very happy person deep down."

"But he wasn't truly invincible," Oz quickly interjected.  "And the last Gem of Amara we found didn't seem to have a Kryptonite clause.  Maybe that would make a difference."

"Sweetie," Willow said gently, patting her boyfriend's knee.  "We all promised not to use the 'C' word about Buffy or Angel, remember?  Unless it's in the Santa sense, that is."

"And then it's Will you want to zip the old lip in front of," Xander offered from his own store of past experience.

"I never wanted to be invincible," Angel explained, trying to answer Willow and ignore the others.  "If you can't be hurt, it's too easy to forget the damage you can do to others.  But I...," he fixed his eyes on the blonde head now resting against his side, "I'd be able to guard Buffy's back better.  If they can't kill me, I wouldn't have to worry about defending myself.  I could focus on Buffy."

The woman in question smiled ruefully.  "You never worry about yourself anyway.  But I do."  She tipped her head back to look up at him.  "I was kind of hoping this would keep you safe."

He rested one hand over hers on his thigh, and with the other hand he traced the line of her upturned jaw.  "Guess we'll just have to depend on each other instead of magick.  Think you can live with that?"

Cordelia could sense a tender reply was in the offing, and in one sense she approved.  She approved in the sense that they were two adults who were deeply in love with each other.  She disapproved in the sense that they were two adults in a room full of other adults, most of whom had love lives of their own to pursue when and if this mess was ever cleared up.

"Okay, so why isn't this little baby as powerful as Amara Mark I?" she asked briskly, effectively breaking the mood.  "Is it made from recycled gems, or was it enchanted on a Monday or a Friday? Or are we just talking the hazards of mass production here?"

"What about size?" Willow asked.  "Is it smaller than the other one?"

"Willow, please," Giles said patiently.  "This is magick; size doesn't matter."

"Yeah, that would be magic all right," Cordelia said with a snort.

"Men," Anya sighed in a moment of rare agreement.  "Eleven centuries and I haven't heard the song change yet."

Cordelia eyed her speculatively.  "You know, Anya, you and I might just get along after all."  

"We think this was the prototype," Doyle said quickly, trying to head off further embarrassing segues, if only for Giles' sake.  "The first jewel was only given the power to protect against sunlight because that was all Amara could figure out at the time.  Later, as her own powers grew, she created another enchanted stone and gave that one even more wards."

"Either that or she just wanted to have one for daywear," Anya offered.  "The one we found last fall was a little on the gaudy side, if you remember."

Buffy remembered that ring all too well.  She had sent it to Angel thinking she could still protect him, even if it was only from a distance.  Maybe hoping, too, that with one of his arguments for staying away abolished, he would come back to her and try again.  

It hadn't turned out the way she'd planned, but they both found the courage to start over anyway, despite the obstacles.  Perhaps this was the reward.

"Do we know what it looks like?" Buffy pressed.  "Is it another ring, or a necklace or a bracelet or..." she saw the crestfallen look on Doyle's face, "or we don't know?"

"We don't know," Doyle confirmed.  "My advice?  Get all her jewelry off, and then try it on Angel piece by piece near an open window."

"And whatever doesn't start a campfire is the right one," Xander added cheerfully.

"Oooh, oooh, dibs on the pictures if it's earrings," Cordelia crowed.  "I'd love to see Angel in a pair of hoops."

Angel winced at the thought; there were some aspects of the modern world he'd never become reconciled to, and one of them was the sight of men in earrings.  But to be able to share the daylight with Buffy, to know he wasn't responsible for adding still more darkness to her life...for that he'd wear hoops the size of the Belvedere's tires, and he'd wear them with a smile on his face.

"I don't know why you're all going on about this silly stone; the important thing is to rescue Hank."  Joyce looked hard at Angel, reminding of whose fault it was that Hank needed rescuing in the first place.  "Now that you know this secret weapon of hers doesn't make her any stronger, you should forget about it."

"Easier said than done," Doyle muttered, catching the look that passed between Buffy and Angel.  Hank's rescue was their main concern, but it was not the only part of the future up for grabs.

* * * * *

"Wakey, wakey, Hank."

The voice was cloying.  A vast sea of sticky sweetness.  The flat of the palm applied to his cheek was another story.

"Drusilla is getting bored, precious.  You must wake up and entertain me."  

The voice was rapidly falling into step with the hand.  Hank fought hard to obey, pushing open his leaden eyelids to blearily survey his companion.

She sat on a large wooden chair, dragged over to face his own.  Her once dark eyes were now yellow and alight with glee, and her face...Hank had to force himself not to flinch at the sight of her face.  It was almost like that of a cat, with elongated teeth and a shape made suddenly triangular by her jutting brow.  Given the unholy gleam in her eye, Hank would not have been at all surprised to see a mouse-tail dangling from between those large shining teeth.

"So you are awake," she cooed, leaning towards him.  "Were you just being a bad boy and playing possum with poor Drusilla?"

He tried to recoil from her long cold hands, but suddenly he realized there was nowhere to go.  The last thing he remembered was looking into the dark pools of her eyes and asking her about windows.  Now he found himself securely chained to a large wooden chair facing a roaring fire.  And Drusilla.

Somehow, of the two, he felt safer with the fire.

"Now, now, pet, mustn't struggle."  She had noticed his instinctive battle with his restraints, and it amused her no end.  "It wouldn't do for you to bruise yourself before it's time; you'll be no fun at all for me if you're fussing over cuts and scrapes."  She raked a hand down his cheek, placidly licking his blood off of her nails after she had completed the pass.  "That is, unless I want you to have them."

"They were right about you," Hank said stupidly.  "I didn't believe them, but they were right."

"Did they tell you all about me?" she asked, clapping her hands in delight.  "Did they tell you all about my Angelus and how he came to be my daddy?  Did he tell you about my family and how he killed them one by one, laughing as his feet slipped in their blood?"

Hank was silent, trying not to picture the scene she was painting.

"There was so much blood," she continued dreamily, getting to her feet and beginning to circle his chair.  "More than he could drink. It stained the floors of my house, the floors my mummy worked so hard to keep clean.  It stained him too, but he loved the smell of it...and the taste and the feel.  He taught me to love it too."  She stopped her pacing and looked at Hank in a sudden fury.  "Did he tell you that?"

"No," he answered quickly.  "We didn't get into the gory...I didn't hear any details."

He thought the answer would satisfy her, and in a way it did.  It gave her the perfect opportunity.

"Do you want details, my love?  I can give you details."  She stood behind him now, running her hands over his shoulders and across his back.  "We have quite a wait ahead of us until we can go out and find my Angel.  You came to me much too soon, you know.  We have to find a way to entertain ourselves for all these long, long hours."  

"You could let me go," he suggested, not really believing she would fall for it.

She didn't even seem to hear him.  "I can tell you all about my Angel," Drusilla continued in a sing-song voice, "when he was my Angel.  I can tell you about all the lovely nights we shared over warm fresh bodies.  I can tell you all about his likes and dislikes, and what he would do when I made him very angry.  That was the best part."  She smiled nostalgically as the hands she was smoothing over his back flexed into claws.  

Hank flinched and tried to pull away.  "I really don't need..."

"Oh, but you do need," she interrupted him, suddenly stepping back from him.  "You were all set to welcome my daddy into your little family, so you certainly need to know what his intentions are."  She circled the chair again, coming to a stop in front of Hank.  "In my day a man would never dream of giving his daughter to a man without knowing his intentions."

Hank closed his eyes for just a moment, trying to focus on his daughter's face.  She trusted Angel; even knowing what he was, she trusted him.  And Hank trusted her.

"I think I know more about his intentions than you do," he said bravely.

Drusilla laughed; a light, trilling sound that shivered in the warm air.

"You only know the shell," she said at last.  "The poor pathetic humanity he wears with his shoulders bent and his head all tucked in like a little turtle."  She mimicked Angel's half-hunched stance.  "I know the demon inside.  I know what he is and how he came to be.  He told me everything.  And now I'm going to tell you."

* * * * *

"So that's it," Buffy said to Angel in a low voice.  "That's the grand plan.  We corner Dru, where we don't know, and steal her jewelry, for which piece we also don't know.  Then we stake her, and try to pick up the pieces.  Of us, not her."

He sighed, running his free hand across her tense shoulders.  "Yeah, that's it, so far anyway.  I take it you didn't have any luck at the Magic Box in running her to ground?"

"No, but Giles is now a proud retailer-to-be, so I'm guessing we'll be getting our wolfsbane at a discount from here on out."  She smiled sadly at her lover.  "Does that count on the plus side for the day?"

Angel didn't answer her at first; he was too busy surveying the inhabitants of the room as they packed up books and sorted supplies for the coming storm.  Everyone was here, ready and waiting for battle.  And yet in the fight to come, they represented leverage for Dru more than allies for the Slayer's team.  If the vampire were reckless enough to threaten Buffy's father, she would not hesitate to take out anyone else at the same time.

"We need to get out of here," he said, more to himself than Buffy.

"I'm a little house happy myself, but umm, honey, there's the little matter of the sun," she delicately reminded him.  "You know, big ball of gas that makes you go 'poof' if you decide to play in it."  A firm shake of her head brushed the swinging tips of her blonde hair against their intertwined hands. "Not a good."

"I can wait until sunset, but we need to get everyone else someplace safe before dark."

Buffy looked at him quizzically.  "Why is here not safe?  We can protect them.  All our weapons are here, and she hasn't been invited in and..."

"I'm not sure she needs an invitation," Angel interrupted, his jaw twitching in a grimace.  "I'm not sure any vampire does."

"Okay, now you're scaring me.  Why would they be able to just walk in?  We live here; this is not neutral territory."  Fear, and anger, sharpened her voice.

"You live here, that's true.  But so do I."  The corners of his mouth turned down, following the course set by the furrow between his brows.  "Buffy, I never had to be invited in here, or into the new house, for that matter.  It never occurred to me until today, but cosmically speaking, me living with you apparently makes that house a vampire's dwelling, and that means anyone can drop in whenever they feel like it."

She drew a deep, shuddering breath; this was not what she expected when they decided to live together.  Home was supposed to be their sanctuary.  

"All right, that wasn't mentioned in the floor plans, but I can deal."  She looked up at him sharply.  "Correction: we can deal."

He heard the unspoken doubt in her words.

"Yes, we," he answered firmly.  "I'm not going anywhere, Buffy.  And somehow I will convince you of that."

She reacted instantly to the hurt in his eyes, reaching up to stroke her finger along his downturned lips.  "I do trust you, Angel.  It's just sometimes I still get a little scared.  Being with you is the part of my life that matters most; it's what gives me the strength to face the rest.  But I know you and that noble streak of yours haven't always gotten the hint."

"Consider me hinted."  

Reassured once more, she turned her mind back to the business at hand.  "Okay, so tell me what's the big about sunset. She can get out before dark now, remember?"

"She won't," he said positively.  "I can't, so she won't...at least not until tomorrow.  She wants to draw things out and make us sweat, but she also needs me immobilized."

"Helpless," Buffy offered, remembering the feeling all too well.

He nodded and squeezed her shoulder.  "I think she'll bring him to us tomorrow, when the sun is up and I can't chase her."

"You mean chase her after she kills my dad."

He quickly shook his head, hoping he was conveying more optimism than he was feeling.  "No, that's only what she thinks.  We're going to stop her before she can follow through.  But first we have to get everyone out of here and make her look for them...and us.  You know as well as I do that it doesn't take much to throw her off her game."

"You're sure she won't lose her grip and take it out on my dad if she can't find us?"  She slapped her hand to her forehead.  "What am I saying?  She's already gripless."

Angel snatched her hand from her forehead and brought it to his lips for a kiss.  "She has an agenda, and she won't lose sight of that.  She's very focused...in a random sort of way."

She smiled half-heartedly at his awkward attempt to offer comfort.  "Not exactly an ironclad guarantee, but I guess I'm not going to get much better.  So where do we pack the children off to?"

"We need to keep everyone together," he mused, glancing from one busy friend to the next. "But from the hints that have been dropped the past few days, that's not going to be easy. Willow just moved back home for the summer, Oz is pretty much living in his van until school starts again, and Xander and Anya's place has more windows than they should allow in a state known for its earthquakes."

"So, that leaves us with Giles' place, which is too small, or..."

"Your mother's house," Angel finished grimly.  "I know."

Buffy gripped his hand firmly in hers as she got to her feet.  "I'll go ask her."  She glanced down at Angel, expecting him to disagree.

He smiled half-heartedly, hearing the unspoken question.  "I'd offer to do it, but you're the one who complains I'm too noble."

"Oh sure, now you listen to me."  She tugged at his hand, pulling him to his feet.  "Well, you're coming with at least. For the good of the cause and all."

"I suppose it wouldn't help to say I heard the Confederates yelling that at Gettysburg," he sighed as he followed her over to talk to Joyce.

"You did not," she shot back over her shoulder.

"No, but if it would help I'd be willing to say I did."

* * * * *

Joyce wanted to refuse when Buffy asked if they could shift the base of operations to Revello Drive.  She couldn't put her finger on why the idea made her uneasy; perhaps it was the idea of sheltering her daughter's unwanted boyfriend from his own past, or maybe it was the new knowledge that Buffy's own home was not safe due to that same boyfriend's past.

Or maybe it was something else, some seemingly insignificant event or conversation that turned Fate from one path to the next.  Whatever it was, the stress of the past few days, actually the past few months, had relegated the source of her qualms to the far corner of her mind, along with all the other minutiae that make up a human life.  Since it was not available for study, she had no choice but to agree to Buffy's request.

Giles saw Joyce slip out while the Scoobies were still loading books and weapons into the cars.  He had had been waiting for an opportunity for a word alone with her, and since he had also heard mention of various side stops for sleeping bags and foodstuff, now would seem to be the perfect time.

He rehearsed his speech in the car, and it sounded quite convincing to his ears.  Some might even call it rather brilliant.  Unfortunately, every last word vanished from his head when Joyce opened the front door.  

"Rupert, you're early."  She stepped back and gestured for him to enter.

"I wanted to...that is to say I thought I should...We need to talk."  As he stumbled and staggered through the preliminaries, Joyce unwittingly forced him back on track.

"Why don't you put your coat up in Buffy's room first to stake your claim?  I'd tell you to leave your bag, but you don't seem to have one."  She glanced pointedly at his empty hands as she closed the door behind him.  "But I'm going to put the kids in the living room anyway, so it's all yours."

He glanced away for an instant, and then forced himself to face her.  Time to put his money where his mouth, as well as his foot, was. 

"Don't you think Buffy might mind?" he asked mildly as he followed her to the foot of the stairs.  "As much as I appreciate the offer, I rather imagine she expects it to be waiting for she and Angel when they join us." 

She stopped abruptly, one foot poised above the lowest riser.  Slowly the foot came down and she turned around to stare at him.

"Did you really think I was going to put my 19-year-old daughter in the same bedroom as her...boyfriend?"  She shook her head.  "Even if things were normal, and we both know they're anything but, I wouldn't do that."

He raised an eyebrow, pretending surprise at her reaction.  "They are living together, Joyce."

"And that's supposed to help?"

He moved closer, resting his hand on her arm.  "It's supposed to make you recognize that she's already made her decision, whether you agree with it or not.  She's not a child any longer, Joyce."

She pulled free of his restraint. "Don't you dare try that line with me, Rupert Giles!  She is my daughter, not yours, and she always will be.  Just because she's too big to send to her room does not mean that I have to blindly support her choices."

"If you want to remain a part of her life, you have to at least accept them," he counseled her.  "Surely you've realized by now that she won't give him up.  Nor should she, in my opinion."  Giles cleared his throat, preparing to make a difficult admission.  "Much to my surprise, and going directly against everything I was raised to believe, I am forced to admit that he is...good for her.  He gives her hope, as much as she does him."

"He's going to get her killed." Joyce spoke slowly and clearly, enunciating each word with painful distinction.  "He's already nearly killed her himself, more than once.  One of these days either he'll do something or he'll get her involved in something, and she won't make it out."

"Then neither will he."  He smiled faintly at her skeptical expression.  "He would die for her, Joyce; of that I am sure.  And more than likely die without her, though perhaps not physically.  Not right away."

"It's Buffy's life I care about," Joyce said at last.  She thrust aside the memory of Angel's face earlier, when he talked of what he had done to Drusilla.  She could not let herself care for his pain, or his future; only Buffy mattered.  "He's all that she can see right now.  Everything is about him, and for him.  She's already given up so much for him; I don't want her life to be next."

"She is the Slayer.  Every day she survives is a testament to her incredible determination, and his."  Even Giles was surprised by the suppressed anger in his voice; Joyce was touching on his own guilty fears now.  He drew a deep breath and tried to soften his tone.  

"We are all of us facing an uncertain future.  The only surety life offers is its eventual end."  He sighed, faced with the inadequacy of his words to reconcile a mother to the mortality of her child.  "Every living creature dies, Joyce; we must, to make way for others.  But if we are lucky, we will have lived our allotted span to the fullest, and leave with few regrets."

"I don't intend for my daughter's early death to be one of mine," Joyce said stubbornly.  "I can't make her leave him; I've accepted that.  And encouraging him leave just delayed things; it didn't put an end to it.  But I can't stop hoping she'll realize on her own how dangerous he is. Rupert, I know that if I just keep on talking that..."

"You'll drive her away completely," he finished for her.  "She's already distancing herself from you.  Her father, on the other hand, has made an effort to get to know Angel, and their relationship has improved considerably because of that."

Joyce made an impatient gesture with her hand.  "Hank doesn't know; he doesn't understand.  Or he didn't.  When we get him back," her voice faltered for a moment, "when we...well, he knows now.  At least he knows part of it. Angel said they didn't tell him everything yet, but when he knows everything..."

"He has spent the last several hours with Drusilla," Giles snapped.  "I daresay that when we find him, he will know a great deal more about true vampires than you will ever wish to hear."

"But he doesn't know Angel.  No matter what that...that thing tells him, she can't explain the effect Angel has on our daughter."

"He gives her hope, Joyce.  And that is something a Slayer needs more than anything." Giles' patience was wearing thin, but still he persevered. He cared far too much about both the Summers women to give up on them now.  Even so, a dull red glow crept across his cheeks as he tried to explain Buffy's love life to her mother.  

"He makes her believe that it is possible to walk in the darkness night after night and still find love, and a happy life.  Angel has made her realize she can be the Slayer, and yet not lose the woman inside of her."

Joyce stared at him silently.  What he saw in Buffy was what she hoped to see, but she couldn't make herself believe that Angel was responsible.  He was the darkness; how could he also be the light?

"I, of all people, understand how...difficult...it is to view this relationship objectively."  Giles smiled wryly and scratched the back of his head, marveling at his gift for understatement.  

'Difficult' indeed.  

"I was raised to be a Watcher, raised by other Watchers with a long tradition of service in the fight against vampires.  When I first saw Buffy with Angel, even knowing about his soul..."  He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts, and then continued very slowly, choosing each word with great care.  "It took every ounce of self-control I possessed to make myself treat him as a human being.  As for their romantic interest in each other, well, I wrote that off on Buffy's part to adolescent hormones running rampant."

"And Angel?  What can he possibly find in a relationship with a teenage girl?  Beyond the obvious."  Joyce's mouth twisted as she acknowledged the one part of Angel she was sure she understood.

"To be honest, I thought...and mind you, this seemed increasingly likely the more I came to know his somewhat depressed personality...I frankly thought he was suicidal."  He could tell by the blank look in her eyes that Joyce didn't understand him.  "What surer way for a vampire to court death than to court the Slayer?" he explained.

"But she's the one in danger!"  Joyce fell back to the living room to defend her position.  As always, the front window beckoned her, and she took up her usual position to watch for her daughter's safe return home.  "Every night she's out there, with him, risking her life for some indefinable cause.  It's too much to ask of her."

He sighed as he followed her into the room.  Joyce was reminding him all too clearly where Buffy got her sometimes admirable, and frequently exhausting, stubborn streak from.  

"The cause is quite simple to define, Joyce.  It is the oldest of wars: good versus evil.  And as for it being too much to ask, is that of her, Joyce...or of you?"  Leaving her with that final thought, Giles turned on his heel and quietly went upstairs.

* * * * *

To Be Continued


	9. Chapter 9

Anam Cara

Part 9

By Gem

"He gave me the most beautiful heart for St. Valentine's Day that year.  All warm and soft and fresh."  Drusilla's black-tinted lips pursed, with no small difficulty, over pearly white fangs.  "The blood dried much too quickly."  An instant later her mood shifted yet again and a delicate sigh stirred the air. "But it was a lovely thought. I'll wager he never gave her a heart to play with.  Just his own silly human one, and who wants that?"

Hank Summers closed his eyes and tried to focus on something, anything, other than Drusilla's dulcet tones.

He was lost in a nightmare, made ten times worse because he knew he was still awake.  His body was bound to a chair by chains beyond his strength to break, leaving his mind the only venue for freedom.  But she had that now too, twisting it with her placidly recounted horror stories until he was no longer sure if it was she who was insane, or he.

"She took him from me, did you know that?" Drusilla was asking for the fifth or sixth time.  For all her calm delivery, the tales themselves tended to be somewhat roundabout.  Time folded back, and then sprang forward, the victim of the moment tossed by the wayside when a more colorful story slithered into her head.

There was only one constant.  Whenever Dru said "she" in that certain voice, Hank knew the vampire meant Buffy.  That knowledge chilled him to the bone.  He had never imagined so much enmity could be contained within a single syllable.

"He was mine again," she continued, dancing slowly around the room with an imaginary partner.  "He came back to me.  To me," she emphasized, as though Hank had dared to question her story.  "We were a family again, just Angel and Spike and I.  We all lived here together and we were so happy.  Until she took him from me again."  

Drusilla stopped dancing in mid-whirl, and stalked over to Hank's chair.  Her voice grew in volume and venom with each succeeding word.  "She was only teasing us when she let him go.  She wanted to punish me for hurting him, so she let him go just long enough for me to feel secure.  And then she cast her spell over him again, and now he'll never come home."  She leaned over and pressed her ridged forehead against Hank's sweaty brow, her voice dropping to a chilling whisper.  "He will never come home to me, but he will never have a home with her either.  I won't let her have him.  Not in a million years, and you know I have a million years to make it so."

As suddenly as her rage had come upon her, it vanished, leaving a happy child in its wake.  She pulled back and began to spin around in circles in the middle of the floor, arms outstretched to keep her balance.

"I'm going to live a million years, but I'll never get any older.  My Angel promised me that, and he never breaks his promises.  Not my Angel; only hers.  My Angel, my daddy, said I would be young and beautiful forever, and all the handsome young gentleman would come calling and we could eat them all for dinner, except the smallest.  He would be our midnight snack."

"It doesn't matter," Hank said dully.  

He'd said that same phrase over and over the past few hours.  At first he tried to use it as a cudgel to beat her words into acceptable images.  But as she ranted on and on, liberally sprinkling the mundane in with the gruesome, he had come to recognize her veracity, if not her sanity.  The stories she was telling about Angel were too detailed, in matters dealing with both blood and boot polish, not to be true.  The man his daughter loved, the man he had come to respect and admire for his utter devotion to that daughter, that man had been a monster.

Yet somehow, in that recognition, his repetitious denial had gained a truth of its own.  It didn't matter, not anymore.  The monster Drusilla described had been real, but so was the man his daughter told him so much about.

In Drusilla, Hank could still see snatches of the girl she must once have been.  A girl devoted to her family, a girl who loved to dance and sing and dreamed of sharing a home someday with a handsome prince disguised as a merchant or a banker.  If he could still see those pieces of Drusilla, when all that was truly left in her was the demon, then how much stronger must Angel's restored soul be in relation to his demon? 

Even more convincing than Drusilla's lingering traces of human personality was Buffy's bond with the man. After all that his daughter had apparently suffered at the hands of Angelus, she still looked at her boyfriend with respect and deep affection. Surely her perceptions should carry more weight than those of a mad demon.  The man he thought he knew must indeed exist, although the factors that had shaped him were far beyond Hank's imagining.

Or they had been, until Story Hour began.   

Drusilla suddenly stopped dancing and pressed a hand to her brow.  "Oh, so dizzy," she giggled.  "My tummy is empty; I can't dance another step until I've had something to eat."

Hank could feel the blood drain from his face, but he willed himself to meet her eyes squarely.  He had tried to reason with her, tried to plead with her to end this all, back when he thought there was some vestige of a soul within her that was reachable.  He knew better now.  His bonds were unbreakable, and her mercy was nonexistent.  There was nothing to do but accept his fate.

Her eyes narrowed as she slowly swayed back and forth in front of the fire.  "Hank," she called out sweetly, "are you hungry?  Wouldn't you like a nice pizza, or perhaps some Chinese food?"

He was confused; this was a new game.  "I thought...I thought you were hungry," he said, the words filtering cautiously through his mind before he gave them breath.

"I am, pet.  But think how nice it would be.  A little Chinese for you, and a little Chinese for me."  She chuckled at her witticism, though fortunately she didn't seem to expect him to get the joke.

He shuddered imperceptibly.  For just an instant, a thought he knew unworthy of his daughter's father had crossed his mind.  Perhaps with the help of another, he might escape.  Alone, he was lost, but if there were two to fight...

Reason raised its ugly head an instant later, reminding him of the incredible strength and speed Drusilla had displayed thus far, as well as the hypnotic quality of her eyes.  He couldn't risk bringing anyone else in on his folly, especially not an innocent bystander. 

"I'm, uh, fine.  But thanks."

"Oh, but you must keep up your strength, at least for a little while.  Otherwise it's no fun at all."

"No," he snapped, realizing an instant too late the inherent danger in antagonizing her.  "I really couldn't bear the...smell of food right now."

"Pooh," she said, pouting in a way he had found adorable just three short days ago.  "Now you'll make me go out and find something all by my lonesome, when all I really want to do is stay here and talk with you.  I still have so many more stories to tell you, and our time will be up soon."  She put a hand to her mouth and giggled.  "Well, somebody in this room is almost out of time, but I mustn't say who."

"That's all right," he said wearily.  "You can tell me when you get back."

Although perhaps, if the fates were kind, Buffy would find Drusilla before she killed anyone else.  Not that he was relying much on the kindness of Fate these days.

She smiled brightly.  "I could get take-out.  Then while I eat you can tell me stories for a change.  Tell me all about that little bitch you raised, so that I know the best way to make her suffer."

The most frightening thing about her proposition was the absolute lack of emotion in her voice.  She might have been proposing he recite the multiplication tables while she ate.  

Something hardened in Hank's heart. He knew it was risky to defy her, but he couldn't stand it anymore.  He was going to die, but he was not going out meekly or quietly.

"You won't beat her.  There are two of them, and they won't let anything happen to each other.  You can't win against them both."

"Oh, but you don't know my plan," she whispered, just barely loud enough for him to hear.  She edged closer to him, moving cautiously as though he would strike out.

As though he could.

"They are strong together; too strong.  But I know of a very special place where they can't be together, and you're going to help me get your darling daughter there.  And when I destroy his little Slayer, and Angel is helpless to prevent it, he will know why he was wrong to leave me all alone."  She came to rest in front of Hank's chair, and waved a stern finger at him.  "He was a very wicked daddy to abandon me, and he must be punished."

Hank dropped his head at last, shame outweighing all other emotions as her words hammered into his skull.  How unutterably ironic to be used as a weapon against a recalcitrant "father" when he was himself such a shining example of parental abandonment.  

"My poor lamb," she cooed, running her hands over his sweat-dampened blond hair.  "I think you are hungry after all.  Chinese it is, and I'll have it delivered straight away."  She frowned at him.  "But no garlic chicken for you, not even if you say pretty please."

* * * * *

"Okay, Buffy, we're all tucked in for the night."  Xander threw his backpack on the corner of Joyce's sofa.  "So when are you and Dad going to be home?"

Buffy leaned in the archway between the living room and the entry hall.  "I'm going back now to wait with Angel until sunset.  Then I think a little recon is in order."

"You know we can help with that," Cordelia pointed out.  "We don't have to just sit here and bake cookies."

"Though any cookie baking you femmes want to indulge in would be okay by me," Xander put in quickly.  "It's been months since we polished off those pizzas for lunch, and I'm a growing boy."  He threw himself on the couch to emphasize his weakened condition.

Cordelia and Anya glared at him: Willow merely looked resigned.

"I know you guys can handle yourselves," the Slayer answered patiently.  "But I think Angel's right."

"Oh, there's a surprise," Anya sniffed.

"Dru has already taken my dad," Buffy continued in a louder voice.  "If she's working alone, that means she's probably going to stop with him.  But if she's got anyone helping her, she can try for more."

"She tries to get us, she'll be biting off more than she can chew," Xander bragged.  A moment later he covered his eyes.  "Suddenly not liking that visual."

"We just don't want to have to defend everyone at once.  If you're all here together, you can take care of each other.  And Angel and I can patrol, and look for Dru.  He thinks she's going to attack tomorrow during the day, so maybe we can still find her beforehand."

Doyle grimaced.  "True.  She's got to get hungry sooner or later."  Cordelia slapped him on the arm, prompting him to add, "And we know she's not going to try your dad.  Not yet."

"But if you're looking for Drusilla, how can you patrol?" Willow asked.  "Maybe we should handle the regular patrol and you and Angel can concentrate on finding her."  She looked around the room for support.  "It's not like we don't patrol without you, you know.  Who do you think does it while you're in LA?"

"Who do you think will be doing when you're there full-time?" Xander added.  "Will's right; we got it covered."  He got to his feet, dinner miraculously forgotten when the bonds of friendship were called upon.

"No," Buffy answered firmly.  "We want you here, safe.  We can handle patrol and Dru-hunting.  If any of you are out there and she finds you, well, that's what we're trying to prevent."

"What if Oz and I went?" Anya suggested.  "She doesn't know me, and I'd be surprised if she knows him either.  And we're not close to you like the others.  We would make very poor bait."

"Nothing but reruns on tonight anyway."  Oz squeezed Willow's shoulder, readying for a quick farewell.

Buffy stared at the former vengeance demon.  "Anya, I don't want anything to happen to you either."  She glanced over at Oz, including him in her thanks as well.  "That goes for you too, Oz.  I appreciate the offer; really I do.  But no one is expendable, okay?"

Anya shrugged, clearly bored with the topic now.  "It was just a suggestion."

"And not a good one," Xander said angrily.  "What on earth were you thinking?"

Anya turned to him in surprise.  "I thought you would be pleased.  You always want me to 'pitch in' and 'help out'."  Her air quotes ended with her hands resting on her hips as she scowled at her clueless boyfriend. "Besides, everyone always looks at me funny when I point out that things are hopeless, and we should all leave town before we die horribly."  She tossed her head in an unconscious imitation of Cordelia.  "I'm just trying to be one of the gang."

"By volunteering to get yourself killed?"  The old Xander would have been embarrassed by the squeak in his voice; an Anya-inured Xander barely noticed the change in pitch.

"Drusilla doesn't know I know any of you," Anya explained, demonstrating what she felt to be the greatest of patience.  "She has no reason to kill me."

"Yeah, other than that she's a vamp and you have blood running through your veins."  He grabbed her by the arms and held on tightly.  "She's not the Red Cross, Anya; she doesn't need to know who that blood has been associating with."

She leaned forward, peering closely at Xander's red face.  "Are you...concerned about me?"

His jaw dropped in astonishment.  "Well duh!  You're my girlfriend; I love you.  I don't want you to die.  Is that plain enough for you?"

"Well you volunteered first, and I don't want you to die either."  Anya sniffled for a moment before throwing herself into Xander's arms.

"No one is going to die," Buffy said firmly, though she was certain Xander and Anya were paying her no mind at the moment.  "No, actually Drusilla is going to die, but she's already dead, so that doesn't count."

"Are you sure we can't help you in some way?" Giles asked, stepping around the scattered knapsacks and duffel bags to reach Buffy's side.  "I realize that physically Drusilla is no match for the two of you fighting together, but she has an emotional advantage that may throw you off.  Frankly, she has several emotional advantages, one of them being she doesn't have the capacity to be disadvantaged by emotion."

"I know it's hard to just sit here and wait, but honestly, that's all we need from you guys."  Buffy pled her case to Giles with the slightest of smiles tugging at her lips.  "Take care of each other, and especially take care of my mom.  Angel and I will take care of Dru and my dad."

"I wish you would let Angel handle this himself, honey."  Joyce stepped closer to her daughter, trying to bridge the physical gap between them in the hopes of mending others.  "He's known her a long time, and he has the best chance of outwitting her.  And...I know you're worried, but he's strong enough to take care of himself."

Buffy turned to Joyce, trying to keep Angel's words in mind as she answered her mother.  She had to be honest and treat Joyce as an equal; it was the only way to rebuild.  She had been able to forgive her father his unwitting neglect, and risked a chance on a new relationship, as one adult to another.  She had done that in the name of the past he had been a part of, and the future she hoped to build with Angel. 

Despite her mother's interference and lack of understanding, Buffy felt she owed Joyce no less of a chance.

"It's my job, Mom.  Even if this had nothing to do with Angel, even if this had nothing to do with Dad, it would still be my job.  She's a vampire, and I'm the Slayer."

"But you don't have to fight every battle yourself," her mother pleaded.

Buffy sighed; obviously headway was going to be made only in the smallest of baby steps.  "I know you don't approve of what I'm doing, and I know you don't understand why.  But will you at least please believe that it needs to be done?"

Joyce knew Buffy needed her support right now, but the parent in her was torn by that need.  A mother was supposed to guide and instruct her young, gradually stepping back as they learned to stand on their own.  When support was all that was required of her, was a mother even needed, or would any friend do just as well?

It was, however, the idea of Buffy's friends that shifted the balance ever so slightly.  While Joyce had been trying to dissuade her daughter from fighting someone else's battles, these children were willing to lay down their lives in that same cause.  

Giles, damn him, had been right after all.

"I do believe that it needs to be done, honey," Joyce said slowly, fighting the admission with a dying will.  "And I'm also starting to believe I won't be able to talk you out of this one.  Just...please be careful."  She reached out tentatively and pulled Buffy into her arms for a hug.

Surprised and touched, Buffy returned the embrace.  She had heard, and understood, Joyce's carefully phrased concession, and she knew this changed nothing about her mother's feelings with regard to Angel or slaying.  But in this moment, with one parent trapped in the lion's den, and the man she loved treading the finest of lines between a guilty past and his responsibilities to the future, she was willing to take whatever allowance was offered.

"Listen, I have to go."  Buffy stepped out of her mother's arms, brushing her hand quickly across her eyes to wipe away any evidence of tears.  "Angel is waiting, and we have things to do before the sun sets."

"I'll bet."  Xander snorted, also struggling to recover his equilibrium.  "Try not to wear him out before the big game, huh?"

"That's not what I meant."  Buffy tried to keep a rein on her temper.  Giles was right; the tense situation was letting loose more emotions than she could afford to indulge.  "We told you from the beginning this was our show.  We have some strategies to plan, and some talking to do."  A quick frown chased across her face.  "I don't want to leave him alone for too long right now.  This is all so hard on him."

Doyle rested his hand lightly on her shoulder.  "I know it's got to be rough on you too, watching how hard it is on him.  Try to hang in there just a wee bit longer."

She smiled ruefully as she adjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder.  "And our other option would be?"

* * * * *

Hank was still in a state of shock.  The body lay not five feet from him, the neck wounds licked clean and only the terror on that cold, still dead face as evidence of the horrors he had just witnessed.

"Gracious, I'm so full."  Dru smiled happily and rubbed her stomach as she gazed down at her "meal" lying on the stone floor.  "Oh, but Hank, my darling one, you haven't had your supper yet."  She pounced on the thin white cardboard cartons discarded just a few feet from the body.  She opened one and sniffed it experimentally before holding it out to Hank.  "Aren't we lucky you didn't order shrimp?  It would have gone bad by now."

Hank turned his head away from her and the proffered food.  "I'm not hungry," he mumbled, closing his eyes to shut out the horror, only to have it replayed by his mind's eye.

"You must eat, pet."  Drusilla tossed aside the carton she was holding and snatched up another.  "I can't have the Slayer saying I was taking poor care of our daddy."

"I'm not your daddy," he said wearily.  "I'm sorry your real father was killed, and I'm sorry for what was done to you too...but it wasn't me.  And it's over; it was over long ago."

"It's never over," she said in a low voice.  For a change, she sounded frighteningly lucid.  "As long as there have been slayers, there have been vampires, and when we have killed the last of them...there will still be vampires."  She laughed merrily, her momentary lapse into sanity but a memory.

Hank could feel a cold anger brewing deep within him.  He had been tied to this chair for hours, forced to listen to and observe unspeakable acts of violence.  His own mortal needs had been used to lure another human being to his death, and the mortal needs that had brought him here in the first place were about to cost him his own life.  If he was going to die anyway, he might as well go out with style.

"Fine, you'll still be here when the sun goes supernova.  Congratulations.  Are we still going to be having this same conversation then?"

Drusilla looked strangely hurt.  "Are you angry with me because your food is cold, Hank?  I didn't mean to eat first, but I was so hungry.  I can warm this over the fire if you wish."  Without waiting for an answer, she hurried over to the huge stone fireplace and held the carton in her hand over the flames.  A moment later the carton caught on fire, and Drusilla's hand with it.

"Oooh!" she cried out, dropping the flaming carton in the fire.  "That stings!"

Hank smiled grimly.  He'd just experienced his first, and probably last, moment of pleasure for the day, but it had been a beautiful sight. 

Drusilla turned back to Hank, shaking her burned hand in front of her.  "I'm sorry, love.  You will have to eat your meal cold after all.  But if you're a very good boy and clean your plate, perhaps we can stop for an ice cream soda on the way to see our dear little Buffy.  After my own little errand, of course."

"We're going out?  To see Buffy? I thought...I thought you were planning to kill me." His brain was numb with the effort of following the twists and turns of Drusilla's thousand moods.  He no longer knew who she was, and he wasn't too certain of who he was anymore, but he had clung with perverse determination to the one fact he knew.  He was going to die.  Tonight.  By Drusilla's hand.

She smiled sweetly at him as she picked up the last of the cartons of Chinese food and opened it up.  She also retrieved the plastic-wrapped chopsticks from the floor, but a moment later she shook her head and tossed them into the fire.

"Nasty things," she explained placidly to Hank.  "Very dangerous.  They should be ashamed of themselves for encouraging humans to use them."  She watched with satisfaction as the cellophane burst open with a small pop and the wooden chopsticks caught on fire.

"Now, pet, you were saying?"  Drusilla turned her attention back to Hank as she approached him with his dinner.  "Killing you, is that what you asked about?  Why yes, of course I'm going to kill you."  She shook her finger at him.  "But that's no reason not to eat your dinner.  Eat, drink and be merry, isn't that what they say?  You eat, I drank and we'll both be merry.  Then tomorrow you'll die."

She glanced down at the carton in her hand as Hank processed her answer.  "Oh dear, I'm afraid I don't know if we have any forks.  I guess you'll have to eat with my fingers."  Her smile turned impish, in an eerie echo of the expression he once found so beguiling.  "I did say we were going to be merry, didn't I?"

* * * * *

Angel paced the length of the living room, and upon reaching the far wall he wheeled around and paced back again.  He should be sharpening weapons; he knew that.  Not that any weapon under his and Buffy's combined care ever got rusty or dull, but at least then he would feel like he was doing something.  He could sharpen weapons, or train some more, or study the city sewer maps that Willow had left them.  

Anything would be better than this endless, mindless, motion.  It left him far too much time to think about the various troubles that besieged him.  Drusilla, who must be destroyed; Hank, who must be saved; Joyce, who must be won over.  And Buffy.  Buffy, whose future mattered most of all.  He had to make all the pieces fit, and quickly, before she suffered for his failures.

It always came back to time.  He, the immortal, could never seem to find enough of it when it was needed, and yet it dragged when he had no use for it.  Maybe, he thought grimly, he wasn't so far from being human as he had supposed.

The sound of the door opening distracted his melancholy thoughts, as did the bright smile that shone over the brown paper grocery bags.  He rushed over to remove the bags from Buffy's arms as she struggled to shift their weight to her sides.

"Hey," she said breathlessly, "I picked up dinner while I was out."

He peered down into one of the bags and laughed.  Sliced roast beef for her, fresh blood for him.

She shrugged as she led the way into the kitchen.  "I figured I'd do the beef and you could do the 'au jus.'  You know, put the parts of the cow we can't wear to use too."

Despite all the intimacies they had shared these past few months, and even though they were on the verge of making one home together, he was still amazed at her casual acceptance of the things he considered most shameful.  

"You are my perfect woman," Angel said with a grateful smile.  "You know that, don't you?"  He set the bags down on the counter and pulled her into his arms to steal a kiss.

She obliged him with one, but pulled back when he tried for a second.

"We need to eat," she said firmly.  "And we need to plan, and we need to talk.  Not necessarily in that order."

Reluctantly, he let her go.  "What do we need to talk about?  We both know what has to be done, and what comes after...comes after.  End of story."

"No, baby, it's only the beginning.  Dad knows now; we've outed ourselves." She began pulling dishes from the cupboards.   "And now that he's been spending some quality time with Dru, there's no telling what his view of vamps is going to be."

Her voice sounded calm and self-assured.  If she had any doubts as to the outcome of the fight with Drusilla, she was not allowing them to the surface.  Angel debated forcing the issue, but decided this strange form of optimism might serve her better when they went into battle.

"Meanwhile your mother is not exactly sitting on my side of the bleachers either," he concurred with a wry smile.  "It could get ugly."  He put his hands over hers, forcing her to place the glasses on the counter so he could turn her to face him.  "Are you scared of dealing with two disapproving parents instead of just the usual one?  Or are you worried that I am?"

"A definite 'no' to question number one, and a slightly less sure 'no' to number two.  This wasn't quite what you bargained for when you followed me into the alley behind the Bronze four years ago."  The corners of her mouth tilted upwards, in a wistful half-smile.  Had it really only been four years?

He shook his head and smiled.  "No, it definitely wasn't, and I can't tell you how glad I am to be wrong.  Even with the disapproving parents."

She raised an eyebrow at him.  "And the extra parent available in stuffy British Watcher Guy size?"

He nodded. "And him."

"And the nosy and kind of tactless friends?"  She took a step closer, pressing her body against his.

His arms automatically slipped around her waist.  "Them too."

"Even Xander?" she teased, tilting her head back to look up at him.  It would have really annoyed her how much taller he was, except for that lovely little hollow of his shoulder that fit her cheek perfectly.  She turned her head to settle in to that very spot, but Angel's hand on the side of her face tenderly subverted her plan.

He dipped his head down to kiss her, murmuring against her lips, "Even Xander."

"You...are seriously...whacked," she mumbled back, removing the sting from her words with the judicious application of conciliatory kisses.

Angel tried to shake his head, but that involved turning his lips away from hers...definitely not an acceptable solution.  He waited instead for air to become a necessary consideration.  When Buffy pulled her head back to inhale a quick catch-up breath, he brushed his nose gently against hers.

"I'm not whacked," he said softly, but firmly.  "I just know how lucky I am."

There were at least a dozen reasons to end the moment there; Buffy ran through each of them in the space it took her lungs to fill with air.  Her father was still in serious danger; her mother was playing the unwilling concierge to all her friends, who were trapped together with all their ex and current loves in one small house; the dinner she so carefully picked out would go to waste.

And none of it meant a thing when she looked up into those trusting dark eyes.

"Lucky?" she asked with a suggestive lilt in her voice.  "Baby, you haven't begun to get lucky yet."

* * * * *

"I feel guilty."

Angel turned his head on the pillow and pressed a kiss to Buffy's forehead.  "That's my line."

"Angel, I'm serious."  She shifted in his arms, still half-draped across his body, yet somehow more distant.  "My father is in terrible danger, and we sent all my friends away to keep them safe, and instead of making plans to rescue him or protect them, we make love.  And I enjoyed it.  What kind of person does that make me?" she complained.

"Human, love."

"Not good enough," she answered flatly.

Angel sighed and turned to his side so that he could face her.  One arm was still wound around her waist, holding her close to him, while he softly stroked her hair with his other hand.  The golden strands clung to his fingers, as loath to let him go as he was to release them.

"Sweetheart, the hardest thing in the world to do is go on living when your world is crumbling all around you; I think we both learned that last summer.  We didn't do so well at it then, but we've grown up a lot since then.  Both of us."

"That sounds more like an excuse than a reason," she accused him.  

"Do you have any idea how you make me feel when we make love?  I don't mean just the physical, though that is...amazing." He couldn't suppress a slightly dazed smile at the memory.  "But you make me feel alive, Buffy.  Not just pretending to be alive, the way most vampires feel, but actually a real live part of this world.  Even when I was human, I never felt so...connected, not to another person or future or anything.  Now I belong, thanks to you.  I belong with you, in every sense of the phrase."

Her hazel eyes were troubled as she looked up into his pale face.  She knew how hard it was for him to express his emotions with words; he was a man of deeds, and thus his heartfelt admission was doubly precious to her.  But as profoundly grateful as she was to be the source of his joy, she still could not suppress the guilt at her own happiness.

"It just seems wrong to be happy now," she said slowly.  She brushed her hand across his chest, something deep inside of her tingling at the silky feel of his skin against her palm, even as she repented the emotion.  "Everything you say that I give you, you gave right back to me, and I feel like a cheat for taking it.  I should be pacing the floor and pounding on things and making all sorts of threats to your PTB's about what will happen if they don't protect my dad until we can get to him, and yet...you make me feel whole for the first time in my life and it feels so good I can't even believe I ever survived without it.  That seems...wrong.  Bad."

He pressed her head into the hollow of his shoulder and buried his face in her hair. "I'm the king of doing the wrong thing, love," he murmured into her ear. "Especially doing the wrong thing for the right reason; I've got that one down to a science.  So will you please trust me when I say that this was not one of those situations?"

She turned her head just slightly to lay a lingering kiss on the warming skin resting beneath her cheek.  "Are you just trying to make me feel better?  Because I think that right now, feeling better would only make me feel worse."

"Then I don't know what to tell you, Buffy."  He withdrew his lips from her neck and replaced them with his hands; his long fingers getting tangled in her hair as they reached through to caress her warm skin.  "Love is about sharing the pain as well as the joy, and hopefully turning one into the other.  Trying to heal your pain is the most natural thing in the world to me."

She sighed as she wound her leg around his beneath the sheet.  When did things get so horribly, and gloriously, complicated? 

"I do love you, Angel.  So much."  She stretched up to kiss the corner of his mouth.  "And even though I might feel guilty about being so happy when there's so much to be not happy about...I wouldn't want to love you any less."

His heart ached for her confusion, but he could also see she spoke honestly of her great happiness.  It was the foundation of her being; a glowing presence that shone from her eyes through all the myriad of worldly considerations.  It existed because he did, and because they did.

"Good," he answered tenderly, "because I've gotten kind of used to it.  And I'm not about to love you any less either."

* * * * *

"Hank, my dearest, I'm going to go out for just a tiny while.  You will be all right here by yourself, won't you?"

Hank marveled at how normal Drusilla sounded.  She might have been off to the library, or the grocery store, for all the import she gave to her words.  When she spoke like that, he felt much better about his abysmal blindness to her true nature.  How could he have know when she left him all those other times that she was going off to torture and kill innocent human beings?  When Joyce had told him she was going to the store, she actually came back with groceries.

"Where are you going?" he asked hesitantly, not sure whether he wanted her to lie or not.  His ignorance had been fairly blissful.

"I have to meet some friends."  She drifted towards the door, and then hurried back to pat his cheek.  "Do be a good boy while I'm gone."

He flinched from her touch and tried again for a straight reply.  Bliss was over, but he might be able to put his hard-won awakening to good use yet.

"What friends?  Where?"

She straightened up and stared down at him.  "Aren't we a nosy lad tonight."

"You said you wanted a father. This is what fathers do."   He tried to shift position in his chair, moving within the tight grasp of the chains to assume a more upright, and authoritative position.

Her eyes wandered up over his head and fixed on the high windows set in the far wall.  "Do they?" she mused.  "I don't remember."

"I want to know where you're going," he insisted.  He felt like he was gaining a little ground at last; mastery of a tiny portion of Drusilla's quicksilver mind.  He pressed his advantage.  "I also want to know who these friends are that you'll be seeing and when you'll be back."

Dru's smile grew wide as her focus slipped from the window to Hank's tired face.  "Oooh, I just knew I was right to pick you as my new daddy," she whispered in delight.  "I didn't get to kill my real daddy, you know; Angel did that before I was born.  But I'm all grown up now and you're mine for the taking."

Hank felt his mind lurch when Drusilla's past collided once again with his daughter's present.  He fought to keep his attention in the now, where there were yet battles that could be won.

"You can't just go out and leave me chained up like this, Drusilla.  What if something happens while you're gone?  I'm helpless."

She patted his cheek one last time.  "I suppose you are."  Then, with a tiny wave, she was gone.

* * * * *

Buffy's guilt had subsided by the time darkness fell.  Being able to go out and patrol, with Angel by her side, gave her the illusion of purpose, even if she believed their mission would be fruitless.  She knew deep in her heart that they were working according to Dru's timetable, and all the pro-active behavior in the world wouldn't hurry things along.  Still, she felt at her most productive when she had a crossbow in her hand.

Angel stayed but a short distance away as they moved swiftly through the old cemetery.  He was preternaturally aware of Buffy's presence at his side, and he could feel the gradual easing of her tension as they patrolled.  

If Joyce could only see her daughter now, he mused, she might understand the futility of expecting a Slayer to settle for a "normal" life. Buffy came alive any time they were together, but he never saw her more focused and more sure of herself than when they were hunting together. 

A ghost of a smile flitted across his face as her words flowed over him.

"Doyle seems more his old self today, don't you think?  I mean you know him old self better than I do, but..."

She had been born to do this, as had he, though they had both initially fought the realization.  They were meant to fight battles great and small, working as one, in the name of the humanity he supposedly no longer possessed.  The same humanity Buffy gave back to him every day with her very presence in his life.

These were the things Joyce sought to deny her daughter, in the name of another type of love.

Angel shook his head and tried to focus on the present.  He couldn't afford to drift off right now; they had too much at stake.  The odds were slim they would find Dru herself out and about when Hank was still her captive, but they could rule out a lot of hiding places, and interview a lot of witnesses before they settled in for a few hours sleep.

And then the real battle would begin.  He and Dru, to the death.  He would prevail, because he had too much to lose not to, but he would never be able to call it winning.

"Angel," Buffy called softly.  "Are you actually in there, or are you just a hologram with good fashion sense?  Because I could kind of use the genuine article right now."

"I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to zone out like that."  

He took a few steps closer, resting one hand on her shoulder.  She looked so small and fragile in the moonlight; he was deeply grateful that was only an illusion.  Physically she was tough as nails.  Stronger than Dru, and in so many more ways than just the flesh.  Poor Dru; if she had possessed a fraction of Buffy's inner strength he never would have broken her, and they would not be out hunting her this warm May night.  She would be in her grave; dead perhaps as the result of a vampire's bite, but at least not a demon herself.

Angel suddenly realized his ruminations were really not helping and forced himself to concentrate on the sound of Buffy's voice.

"I want to check Willie's again," she was saying decisively, "just in case he's heard something new. 

Buffy could see Angel was having trouble staying in the here and now; she knew the No Thanks for the Memories Face when she saw it.  It had grown increasingly rare in the past few months, but she remembered it all too well from the bad old days.  The only way to deal with him now would be to drag him into the present and keep him there until he could share those memories with her.  

"We also need to check those other places you mentioned," she continued.  "The ones where Angelus used to hang.  Someone has to know something."

"Agreed."  He nodded, before reluctantly adding a warning.  "Just...well, we'll need to be really on our guard in these places.  I was a little nervous going there when my demon was up and running, but now...and walking in with the Slayer..."  He shook his head and laughed sharply.  "We're not going to be popular."

She couldn't quite suppress her own snicker, though it sprang from an entirely different source.  "The Scourge of Europe was nervous about going to a demon club?"

He stopped walking and emitted something close to a growl.  "You know, that nickname only works if your audience actually knows what the word 'scourge' means.  You'd be surprised at the lack of education in the demon community."

"Oh swell; he's on the public school riff again." 

Buffy and Angel both turned swiftly to find the source of the whine.  It didn't require much in the way of detective skills; a small war was apparently breaking out next to a decrepit mausoleum a few yards up the path.

"Oops. Did I say that out loud?"

"Nice going, Cor," Xander could be heard to complain.  "All those new computer skills and you still can't search for the meaning of the word 'quiet'."

Doyle jumped in a moment later with, "Do you honestly think they wouldn't have sensed us in a minute anyway?"

"Oh they would have been doing the graveyard grope long before they got to us," Anya mumbled through her fingers as she smothered a yawn.

"I told you we should have split up," Willow complained.  

"Hey Buffy, hey Angel," Oz called out, the only member of the group composed enough to notice the rapidly advancing presence of the angry Slayer and her favorite vampire.

"What are you doing here?" Buffy demanded.  She looked from one guilty face to another, counting only one as missing.  "You're one short; where's Giles?  Hiding under a bench?"

"He stayed with your mom," Willow answered.  The moonlight could not entirely disguise the flush of shame that suffused her face.  "I know we were supposed to stay too, but we wanted to help."

"We did help," Anya said stoutly.  "We found a vampire before we ever saw you and Xander killed it."  She patted her boyfriend on the back, silently daring anyone to belittle his accomplishment.

Cordelia, of course, was never one to back down from a dare.  "Xander tripped and pulled the vamp down on top of himself, screaming like a girl the whole time, of course."

"Xander, not the vampire," Oz added, strictly in the interests of clarity.  "The whole screaming thing, that is."

"He fell with his mouth open," Xander protested, raising a hand to rub his neck.  "Hello fangs, this is Mr. Neck.  Bad feeling; very bad."

"Then Doyle staked the vamp," Cordelia finished serenely.

"With, umm, the stake Willow threw me," Doyle admitted.  "I sort of dropped mine somewhere around here."  He looked down to the grass beneath his feet, as though expecting the prodigal stake to rematerialize by sheer force of will.  "I'm more used to using my fists, you see.  They're harder to misplace."

"Doyle, my new best bud, let me help you find that stake."  Xander tried to slip past the stiff shapes of Buffy and Angel, scuffing his feet along the ground to locate the elusive weapon.  "Those things don't grow on trees, you know."

"Go home," Angel said firmly, catching Xander by the collar as the human tried to pass him.  "All of you need to get back to Joyce's house and stay there.  We will take care of this."

"Angel, man, I know you think this is your fight alone, but it's not."  Doyle's sheepish grin faded as he clapped his hand on Angel's shoulder.  "We're all a part of this, because you and Buffy matter to us.  And we can't just sit back and let bad things happen to people we care about.  Or to innocent bystanders, like Buffy's dad."

Buffy stepped around Angel to talk to Doyle directly.  "We understand that, Doyle.  But the more people take her on, the more confusing it's going to be, and the greater the chance that someone will get hurt."  She glanced around the small group, trying to reach each of them simultaneously.  "If we were talking Dru and her usual entourage, we'd definitely give two thumbs up to strength in numbers.  But as far as we know, she's working alone."

* * * * *

Willie stretched up a shaking hand to fumble for the portable phone on the bar.  He swore and pulled his hand down to inspect it when his fingers encountered broken glass instead.  

Just a slight cut, he was relieved to see.  It was nothing compared to the swollen jaw, or the matching black eyes or the two broken ribs he was now sporting.  Once again he was discovering there was nothing like a Sunday night bar brawl to add a little color to a guy's cheeks. 

As he tried to make his weakened arms support his weight long enough to push him to his feet, Willie revised his estimate of accrued injuries.  Definitely three broken ribs.  The new tally didn't change anything, though. He had to call the kid.  He had to warn her that Spike's psycho ex was on the loose and rounding up guests for a "party."  He didn't know where this shebang was going to be, but the guests of honor were easy enough to guess.

Not that Willie didn't have complete faith in the Slayer and her vampire bodyguard to take out the bad guys, otherwise known as his devoted clientele.  Talk about your sure things.  But the bar had been packed tonight, and Drusilla definitely had Pied Piper potential.  They followed her out of the bar like lemmings to the sea...if the sea was made of blood and bones that crunched.

Jeeze, that was all the kid needed: a bunch of hyped-up and "likkered-up" demons looking to party.  They were rowdy enough before Elvira Doolittle showed her dead white face, but by the time she floated out of the Alibi Room the ones who could still walk were ready to take on the first hellbeast that looked cross-eyed at them.  Even a Slayer needed a little advance warning to handle these goons.

Willie managed to stand long enough to grab the phone, and then clutched the bar for support as he cautiously lowered himself back to the floor.  He'd call the kid and give her the heads' up and then it was time to stop playing the hero and dial good old 911.

Hell, he was a taxpayer, wasn't he?  Most years, anyway.

* * * * *

The phone rang only once in the deserted apartment before it was bumped through the call forwarding service Buffy insisted they couldn't possibly fight evil without. Angel privately thought she was more interested in not missing a call from Willow than she was about receiving a hellmouth red alert, but if she wanted to be followed around by ringing phones 24/7, he was not the man to deny her.

Tonight, as always, he had automatically set up the phone before they left for patrol.  The numbers were pre-programmed to speed up the process, so all he had to do was remember to turn it on.

After one lonely ring, the call hit the computer sequence that redirected it.  From there it was a straight line to Angel's cell phone, which currently lay abandoned, along with its dead battery, on Buffy and Angel's bed.

* * * * *

To Be Continued


	10. Chapter 10

Anam Cara

Part 10

By Gem

"Angel, this is no use."  Buffy stopped to lean against the side of a building, using it as support while she removed a stone from her low-rise boot.  "We have been to all your old hangouts...make that Angelus' hangouts...and nobody seems to know a thing.  Hardly anybody is even there except the vampires.  And they don't seem to like me."

He smiled down at her, admiring the spirit that refused to let her lose her sense of humor, no matter how dire the dire.  

"I told you we weren't going to be popular.  As for the places only having vampires in them, well...yeah, that is a little weird," he acknowledged.  "I get the feeling something is brewing.  I just hope it has nothing to do with Dru."

"And the bet on that would be?" she asked skeptically.

Angel took her hand in his as she pushed off of the wall.  "I'm not putting money on that one, love. Look, we're right down the street from the Alibi Room.  What do you say we take a quick swing by to check up on our old pal Willie, and then head back to your mom's?  You look exhausted."  The cool fingers of his free hand slid beneath her jaw and tilted her head up.  "Beautiful, of course, but still wiped."

She smiled wearily at him, enjoying the sensation of his distinctive chill against her warm skin.  It seemed wrong to find something pleasurable in the midst of all this worry and frustration, but her body could not help responding to his, any more than her heart.

"Willie's it is," she agreed.

But the sign for Willie's Alibi Room, when they reached it a few minutes later, was dark.  Angel forced open the door and stepped back to let Buffy precede him into the bar.  She stepped cautiously into the room, grimacing at the crunch of splintered glass beneath her feet.  Chairs lay scattered across the floor, upended and broken.  Angel could feel the demon stirring within him as the heavy smell of blood filtered through the air.

"This does not look good," Buffy muttered.  "Willie only closes when the world's about to end, and even then he drags out Happy Hour until the demons get restless."  She automatically scanned the room for casualties, or lingering adversaries.

"Someone turned out the sign, though," Angel pointed out, "not to mention locking the door behind them.  And this place is not exactly a Zen meditation room.  Fights aren't all that uncommon here."  He stepped around behind the bar, momentarily losing his footing in a congealing pool of blood.  A cautious sniff reinforced his opinion.  "This isn't human blood, Buffy.  Or demon for that matter, at least not very much.  It's mostly animal blood, like Willie keeps behind the bar."

She glanced over at him, hoping he was right.  "Well, that would explain all the broken glass. So you think this was just a normal demon hoe-down, and nothing to do with our particular demon ho?"

One corner of his mouth twitched upward, but he refrained from a full-blown smile.  Even if this specific disaster had nothing to do with them, there were still catastrophes a plenty to go around.

"I think we better get you home, that's what I think."  He quickly rejoined her in the center of the room.  "We'll check on Willie again tomorrow."  

"I'm a big girl, Angel," she protested.

"And I'm grateful for that every day," he assured her, abandoning private investigator mode for that of concerned boyfriend without hesitation.  "But you're also human, and you need some rest.  So do I."

Angel rested his hand on Buffy's back, gently urging her toward the door.

"But maybe we could still find some..."  

"Buffy, we've done all we can for now.  I know you want to keep looking, but the best way to help your father now is by preparing for the showdown Dru is planning.  And that means getting some sleep."

The worst part was, she knew he was right.

She sighed as Angel pulled the door closed behind them.  It was a beautiful night, warm and soft with starlight.  She and Angel were supposed to be cuddling in their new bed back in LA, sated and at peace with the world.  Her father, her mother, all her friends; they were also supposed to be safe in their own beds because she and Angel had done their jobs for the day.

Her tired mind shifted.  Beds.  What a lovely concept.

"You realize we're going to be sleeping on the couch," Buffy said mournfully, winding her arms around Angel's as she rested her head against his shoulder.

"If we're lucky," he agreed with a sigh.  "We're the last ones in, remember?"

"We can also beat up anybody in the room; alone or all of them at once," she pointed out.  A slightly mischievous tone crept into her voice.  "We'll get the sofa or nobody sleeps tonight."

"You're still going to owe me a massage for this," he warned her as they made their way down the street.  "Sofa or no sofa, we're going to be pretzels in the morning.  And she's your mother."

She stuck her tongue out at him, reveling in the thousand little ways he managed to inject normality into their crazy lives.  It was never so much that she felt stifled, just...what was the word he used?  Connected, that was it; connected to the "real" world.

With another sigh, more for effect than genuine emoting, she seized the lifeline he had thrown her.  "Just for that, sir, I get to pick whether it's a back massage...or a front." 

He groaned when she released his arm and darted away towards the parking lot where they had left the car.

"Now who's not playing fair?" he called after her.

* * * * *

Drusilla smiled as she glanced over her shoulder at the latest additions to her band of merry men, or rather demons, which trailed after her through the back alleys of Sunnydale.  These were the last of the available minions-for-hire, lured out of every dive and dumpster ever mentioned in her presence by Spike and Angelus.  Not that either vampire had ever taken her to such places; good gracious no.  They had always sought to shield her from the seedier elements of the afterlife. Angel believed her too much a child for such exposure, while Spike preferred to see her as too much the lady. 

Dru had allowed her menfolk their little delusions, but she had her own opinions on the matter, namely that when a lady needed to rely on the 'kindness' of strangers, it was better if they were even needier than she.  And so tonight she explored the darker side of the dark side.

The excursion had become an exercise in stealth the like of which she had never known; even as she was out collecting guests for her party, Angel and his pitiable excuse for a mate were out hunting her.  Drusilla had caught glimpses of them from afar, but managed to stay out of Angel's "sensor" range.  Fortunately, she also had a head start on the demon pub-crawl, and the cream of the dregs were hers to command.

The next stop was to retrieve Hank and the remainder of her entourage from the mansion, assuming her new companions hadn't killed Hank for sport in her absence.  If so, there would be hell to pay, and a new plan to form.  Otherwise, it was off to the party.  

Once she determined where it was to be, that is.  

She knew where her sire lived, of course, but she had a nagging feeling that he was no longer there.  It would be just like that nasty interfering Slayer to drag him off to parts unknown, just to spite Drusilla.  She had no sense of what was right and proper, no idea of the implacable bond between sire and childe that she was forcing Angel to decry.  She was just a Slayer, lowest of the lowly human race.  A simpering spoiled brat, fit for nothing more than breeding stock for Drusilla's future meals.  Assuming she could actually breed anything big enough to eat, the scrawny half-starved chit of a Sla...

Breeding stock.  Somewhere in the back of her mind, midst all the whirling colors and screaming voices, a cold pure light shone forth.  That was the message the stars had been singing all night, the one drowned out by the drunken louts she had bent to her will.  

The Slayer had run home to Mother.

* * * * *

The Summers house was dark and silent when Buffy unlocked the door and pulled Angel inside.  Dawn was still a few hours away, and judging by the heavy blankets she spied hanging over the living room and dining room windows, they wouldn't be overly aware of it when it came.  Sleep, and a temporary respite from their woes awaited them.

"Buffy."

The Slayer raised her eyebrow at Angel.  It seemed Giles too awaited them.  

"In here," continued the soft voice, coming from the kitchen.

Angel shrugged his broad shoulders; he was as much at sea as his beloved.  Together they made their way down the hallway to find out what kept the Watcher still watching.

Giles was sitting quietly at the kitchen table, a cup of fragrant tea in one hand and a large leather-bound book in the other.

"Waiting up for us, Giles?"  Buffy couldn't suppress a quiet snicker, especially when she noticed the guilty expression on Angel's face.  

"I wanted to make you aware of the...well, the accommodations."  It was Giles' turn to look embarrassed; despite his best efforts he had not been able to budge Joyce on the sleeping arrangements.  "Your mother feels...that is to say she believes..."

As tempting as it was to see if Giles' face could actually get any redder, Angel decided to take pity on him.  "Giles, we know we've got the couch.  It's okay."  

"Well, not exactly okay, but not your fault," Buffy quickly amended.  "And we'll live.  For one night.  After that, we have plans."  She grinned up at Angel, reminding him silently of the promised massage.

"You did save us the couch, right?"  Angel suddenly realized Giles hadn't been very specific about 'accommodations.'

"Yes, of course," Giles quickly assured him.  "It caused a bit of a fuss, naturally...but I did insist."

"You're the tops," Buffy said lightly.

Giles let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding; he'd been sure Joyce's decision would have caused yet more hurt feelings between the Slayer and her mother.  It was a relief to be wrong on this, at least.

Carefully he marked his place in his book and got to his feet.  "Now that we have that settled, did you have any luck hunting?"

Buffy shook her head as she leaned against Angel's side; suddenly she was exhausted.  "Nope.  No one knows anything, no one's seen anything and hardly anyone is even out.  It's creepy."  She shivered.  "And it takes a lot to wig this Sunnydale High grad."

Giles looked concerned.  "Do you think it's related to Drusilla?"

"I'm too tired to think."  Buffy struggled to master her impossibly heavy eyelids, but she knew it was a losing battle.  "I need to recharge my batteries or the only way I'll be able to fight off Dru tomorrow is by eating a garlic bagel and yawning her to death."

Angel suddenly bent over and lifted her up in his arms.  "Talk later; sleep now," he said firmly.  "Good night, Giles."

"Yes, well, good night," the Watcher mumbled to their retreating forms.  

Giles stood alone in the kitchen for a few minutes, worrying over the coming struggle.  As always, Buffy was focused on the fight itself; she was a warrior, and that was her duty.  She would deal with the aftermath...after. But as a Watcher, or at least a former Watcher, Giles had to keep his eyes firmly fixed on the horizon.  He could see the pain that awaited her, both from her own heart and that which she took of Angel's to ease his burden.

In her current fleshed incarnation, Drusilla presented a considerable challenge.  But as a specter of a guilty past, she would be a much harder nut to crack.

* * * * *

Buffy thought she would fall asleep the moment her head touched the pillows, but for some reason each passing minute roused her weary brain still more.  

It might have been the sofa, which was not designed to sleep two, especially when one of the two was the size of Angel.  Or it might have been the six other people in the room.  She had known that Willow sang in her sleep; she'd heard the witch's repertoire for the better part of two semesters now in their dorm room.  But Anya's snores had no doubt woken half the neighborhood and Xander's unconscious attempts to punch the pillow were liable to fracture his hand if he hit the hard wood floor one more time.

Normally the feel of Angel's body wrapped around hers would have been enough to overrule these distractions, but not on this night.  She could feel the tension humming along his limbs, transmitting itself to her and then reflecting back on him.  

She ran her hand along the arm that held her firmly against his chest, smiling a little at the warmth her flesh brought to his. 

"Angel," she whispered.

"Mmm," he mumbled into the back of her neck.  It wasn't easy to fall asleep on this tiny excuse for a sofa, especially in his current state of mind, but he was trying.  

Unlike some people.

"Did you finish stenciling the downstairs bathroom?"

She wasn't sure where the question came from; she only knew she needed to remind them both of the future that awaited them on the other side of the coming day.

"Wednesday," he whispered back, after turning his head to expel a mouthful of blonde hair.

"And the tile for the kitchen fireplace?" she pressed, still staring out into the darkness.  "Did they fix that last panel?"

He flattened himself against the back of the sofa and pulled gently at Buffy's shoulder, rolling her over onto her back as he hovered over her.

"Also Wednesday," he answered patiently.  "The prints are up in the bedroom, the refrigerator is turned on and I took out the garbage.  Any other housewifely concerns?"

The living room was very dark; thanks to the two layers of fabric covering the windows, but his pale face was still faintly visible in the traces of intrusive moonlight that slipped between the blankets.  She reached up to caress his marbled cheek, tracing the curved line of his mouth as he smiled down at her.

"Did the jasmine come for the garden?" she asked quietly.

She felt his cheek turn against her hand, and then his lips brushed her palm in a fleeting kiss.

"Already planted, love.  Night blooming jasmine; how did you know about that?"

She slipped her hand around his neck and tugged, sweetly compelling him to pillow his head upon her breast.  As his now warm length stretched along, and beyond, her smaller frame, she could feel the unease begin to ebb from both of their bodies.

"Just call me a flower child," she whispered against the silken spikes of his hair.  "You wanted so much for me to have a garden, but what good would it be without you there beside me?"

Angel was silent for a minute, lost in the rhythm of her strong heartbeat against his cheek.  It set the meter for his life and he would never cease to be grateful for the blessings it brought to him.

"So you do understand why I had to destroy the first Gem of Amara," he said at last, his breath flowing across Buffy's bare arm.  "That day was the first time I'd stood in the sun in over two hundred years, but without you...it was a joke."

"No more without me's," she promised drowsily.  The familiar weight of his body against hers was lulling her into the sleep that earlier eluded her.  As she felt his arms tighten around her waist, she surrendered to the darkness.

* * * * *

At the foot of the stairs, Joyce waited, listening for the deepening breath sounds that would release her from her captivity.  

She hadn't meant to eavesdrop; she only wanted to assure herself that Buffy was home safely.  A part of her mind noted the irony of that phrase, considering her daughter's sofa-mate, but at least Buffy was in the house and the enemy of the week was not.

She had thought either Buffy or Angel heard her door open, or her footsteps in the upstairs hallway; they both had uncannily good ears.  Either weariness or preoccupation masked her approach, however, allowing her to nearly stumble into a private conversation.  Having arrived unremarked, she found it difficult to leave the same way. 

And so she listened.  She listened to a brief domestic conversation about bathroom walls and kitchen tiles, and for one fleeting moment she heard the underlying harmony.  Walls grew before her eyes, forming the outlines of a house she'd never seen.  She had believed the house to be just another part of a child's fantasy:  Sleeping Beauty Castle with a swimming pool.  But it was real.  In the midst of parental battles and demonic assaults and government-sanctioned kidnappings, they had created not just a house, but a home.  It was a deliberate step towards a shared future; one she had always believed they could never have.

For Joyce it was an idea born within the space of a heartbeat, and rejected just as quickly.  Perhaps their feelings, and intentions, were genuine.  Maybe they were willing to work hard for their future, and under a moonlit sky that seemed like enough to ensure it.  

But Joyce could feel the coming dawn almost as surely as Angel, and it was not a light he could ever share with her daughter, at least not without spells and talismans.  She felt an unexpected twist of pity for the vampire as he slumbered in a state of hopeless denial.  All the magick jewelry in the world could not make him the normal human man they all knew Buffy needed.

* * * * *

_Angel walked through the cemetery, searching for something; he knew not what.  The grass was cool and damp beneath his feet, as the last drops of morning dew burned off under the sun's bright gaze._

_The sun.  _

_He glanced up in a panic.  The sun was rising quickly in the sky, yet he did not burn.  How was it possible?  How could the sun be so warm upon his skin and not turn it to ash?  It didn't make any sense; it wasn't..._

_He was upon the graves before he finished the thought.  Two stones side-by-side, testaments to the long arm of his sins.  Fathers both, and as such a mystery to him; they lay as markers, one at either end of his guilt._

_Padraic Mannion_

_Born 1702  Died 1753_

_and_

_Henry Summers_

_Born 1958  Died 2000_

_"This was all your fault; you know that, don't you?"  Joyce's voice was calm and cool, almost soothing in its certainty.  "They both died because you couldn't control yourself.  You were looking for a cheap thrill and you found Darla.  Then you got bored with her and started playing with Drusilla's mind.  You had to prove you were better than your father thought you were, and then you made him pay the price.  Then we all paid."_

_"That wasn't me," he said intently.  "The demon killed Dru, not me.  Buffy said so."_

_Joyce laughed, a trilling laugh that sounded uncannily like Drusilla's.  "Buffy wants to see the best in you.  She wants to see the best in everyone.  If Spike and his amazing chip had stayed in Sunnydale a few more months, she would have started to see redeeming social value in him."_

_"I couldn't control the demon," he insisted.  _

_"And Darla?  There was no demon that night, except inside of her.  What was your excuse then?"_

_He couldn't bear to look at her.  He turned his head away, but suddenly she was before him again._

_"I was stupid," he admitted.  "I was angry and hurt and...stupid.  I thought life was supposed to be so much more.  I though family was supposed to be so much more."  He glanced down at his father's tombstone.  "I didn't know what the word meant then."_

_"And now you're the expert?  You separate me from my daughter, kill her father, and suddenly you're Father Knows Best?"  She shook her head regretfully.  "I don't think so, Angel."_

_"I won't let Hank get killed; I swear it."  He gestured at the accusing tombstone.  "This isn't real; it hasn't happened yet.  And it won't."_

_"Now there's what I'd call a touching display of filial affection.  Better late than never, eh boy?"_

_Angel closed his eyes; it couldn't be._

_"Nice to know yer willing to save someone's father, if not yer own."  _

_"It wasn't me," Angel choked out.  "I couldn't stop him; I wasn't even there.  I have his memories, but I wasn't there!"  He surrendered to the inevitable and opened his eyes; forcing himself to confront the father he'd killed two and a half centuries before._

_"I know, lad."  Padraic's voice was unexpectedly gentle.  "It was never your fault.  Nothing was.  The liquor, the women, the fights; none of it was my boy Liam's fault."_

_The struggle was eternal, and for Angel it was unwinnable; his opponent had long ago turned to dust.  Yet he couldn't give up the fight when it was the only way to keep his father, his family, with him._

_"I did what I thought would catch your eye. I just...I wanted you to see me."_

_"Oh I saw, indeed I did.  Far more than these olds eyes were meant to see."_

_"Stop it!  That's enough; it isn't helping."  Buffy suddenly appeared in the cemetery, a human shield between Angel and his attackers.  "Angel, make them go away.  You don't need them anymore."_

_"They won't leave.  I've tried, and you've tried, but they never go very far."  He stared at Hank's headstone, and at the array of phantom victims now ranging themselves behind it.  "I don't think they're supposed to."_

_"Then you have to make them work for you instead of against you.  You can't let them hold you back again."  She took his face in her hands, her skin strangely cool against his sun-warmed cheeks.  "I need you to be strong for me, Angel.  She's here."_

_"She's here," he echoed, as the sun disappeared behind a cloud and the sky grew black._

* * * * *

Angel awoke with a start, almost banging his head on Buffy's chin as they both tried to sit up at the same time.

"Buffy..."

She nodded quickly, pulling her legs out from underneath him.  "I know; we have to wake the others.  She's here."

* * * * *

Drusilla and her minions strode down Revello Drive, no longer bothering to maintain any pretence of quiet.  There was nowhere for Angel to run; it was almost dawn.  And the Slayer would only go so far without her lover.  

She glanced over at Hank, who stumbled blindly by her side.  He saw nothing she did not wish him to see, heard only her voice, and obeyed her every command.  He would be the perfect avenging sword, to slice the bond between slayer and sire. 

And of course, he was also going to make a lovely breakfast.

* * * * *

Buffy and Angel were still trying to rouse the Scoobies when the demons struck.  

One minute it was dark and quiet in the Summers' living room, and the next there were demons of every conceivable shape and size pouring through the broken door.

A Centrak headed for Xander and Anya as they struggled to disentangle themselves from their zipped-together sleeping bags.  The demon's fangs dripped saliva on the hardwood floor as he snared Anya by the hair with one scaly hand.  Xander received the back of another hand, leaving the demon three arms free to catch his prey and smack one against the other as human cymbals.

Doyle tried to scramble over the heap of pillows separating the assembled sleeping bags to help his new friends, but he was tripped up by a Tarleth's tail suddenly wrapped around his legs.  He fell over Cordelia, carrying all three of them to the floor in a heap.

Oz was not faring much better against the six-legged Elysian demon that sniffed out his werewolf blood and decided to bond.  Literally.  The gooey substance oozing from the creature's legs was adhering to Oz's skin, plastering him to the demon and the floor.  Willow tried to break the two of them apart, but her frantic tugs only resulted in joining her to them.

Giles made it halfway down the stairs, Joyce at his heels, when they were attacked by a deceptively small Borkian demon.  Fortunately Giles knew the creatures were much tougher than they looked and fought accordingly, but his efforts were hampered by his desire to honor his promise to Buffy and protect her mother at all costs.  Joyce made his job that much more difficult by her fervent desire to "help," which tumbled them both down the stairs in the wake of the falling Borkian.

Buffy and Angel were in the foyer, fighting any demon that came through the door, most of whom seemed intent on getting a piece of the Slayer.  Determining species or sub-species was not a consideration; it was a matter of breaking and tossing away, in preparation for the next wave.  They didn't even bother to use the weapons Giles had tossed over the banister on his way down; there wasn't time for that kind of finesse.

Into this maelstrom came Drusilla, with a handcuffed Hank as her shield.

* * * * *

Buffy dropped the Crall demon she had been preparing to fling against the wall the instant she saw her father in the doorway.

"Dad," she breathed.  "Oh Daddy, are you okay?"

Hank didn't even seem to hear the question, leaving Drusilla to answer for him.

"Hank is much too tired to talk now, Buffy.  He would like to go to sleep."  She smiled, nuzzling her captive's blond head with her cheek.  "A very long sleep."

"You have about two seconds before I turn that smirk on your face to a really pale shade of face powder," Buffy snarled.

"Temper, temper," Dru scolded.  "How can we have a proper family party with all this awful anger?" 

The Slayer pulled together the fraying edges of her self-control.  "You haven't been to a lot of family parties recently, have you Dru?"

"It's too crowded in here," the vampire fretted, "it makes my head hurt.  Everyone must leave."  When her quiet demand was not heard, she raised her voice and tried again.  "Get out!"

The Borkian grinned unrepentantly from the foot of the stairs as he struggled to his feet.

"Party's just getting started!" he bellowed, charging halfway up the staircase with his dagger pointed to the heavens.  "The day is young and we are..."

Drusilla snatched the hallway mirror from the wall next to the door with one hand and hurled it sideways at the demon's throat, neatly severing head from body.  His choked off battle-cry roused the attention of some of the other demons, who stopped fighting the Scoobies, and each other, long enough to stare at the quivering vampire.

"Take your toys and play outside, boys."  No yelling was necessary this time; the Borkian's horned head bumping back down the stairs spoke loudly enough for all to hear.  "It's time for the grown-ups to talk."

The Scoobies began flying through the front window as the demons hastily retreated from their less-than-happy hostess.  Giles instinctively moved to help his young companions, but Drusilla froze him into place with her words.

"The nasty Watcher-man must stay; he's almost like a daddy and he needs to learn.  And Mummy, I think," she nodded regally at Joyce, who was slowly getting to her feet.  "She should stay too.  And of course my darling Daddy and his new little playmate.  What fun would this be without them?"

"How did you get in?  I don't understand how you could..." Joyce stammered.  "You're a vampire; they said you were a vampire."

Drusilla blinked rapidly and stuck out her lower lip.  "But you invited me; don't you remember?  I'm here for my cup of cocoa."

"I never said a word about cocoa," Joyce protested, clinging to what shreds of innocence she could claim.  "I did, that is I think I did, ask her in for a little chat. Just girl talk, about Hank and...but I never said a word about cocoa."

"God, Mom, do you deliberately invite every vampire in town but Angel into the house?"   Buffy tore her eyes away from her father long enough to glare at her other parent.

"I didn't know she was...and then when you told me...I guess I forgot."  Joyce shrugged helplessly.  "I mean how many times do you casually invite someone to your house who never takes you up on it?"

"In Sunnydale?  Usually only once."

Angel paid no attention to Joyce's inadvertent slight; he was too busy studying Hank, who stood docilely within Drusilla's embrace.  There were visible welts where chains had bitten into Hank's skin, and a few bloody scratches, but for the most part the human appeared unharmed.  It was his eyes that bothered Angel.  Too calm, too distant, given the situation.  It was possible Dru had drugged him, but more likely it was hypnosis, or shock-induced catatonia.

Angel was hoping for hypnosis.

"It's over, Dru; let Hank go.  You've had your fun."

The vampire's voice was as calm Hank appeared, and distantly compassionate.  Angel knew a thing or two about denial as well; he refused to let the pain in, not right now.  Never mind the mad glaze in her dark eyes, a sheen that he put there with his endlessly creative tortures.  He had to focus on the immediate future, or he would live forever in the shadow of his sins.

"The fun is just beginning, pet.  You got to kill your daddy, and mine, and many others too.  I just want to get my share."  Her game face took shape as she caressed Hank's throat with one long, black nail.  "You used to tell me stories about how much you enjoyed killing your daddy, don't you remember?  He was so cruel to you in life, my poor Angel.  He humiliated you, and he looked down on you and he even beat you when you were small."  

He tried to shrug off her words. "It was the 1700's.  Back then, it was considered active parenting."  

She smiled widely as her voice dropped to a whisper.  "But you got big, bigger than him, and he couldn't hurt you any more that way.  So he made fun of you, and told you what a bad, bad boy you'd always been, and always would be."  

Angel remembered the daylight hours he had whiled away telling her stories of his grand "revenge" on his father.  His father's death had left him alone with his self-doubts, and he needed desperately to believe that he was the victor in their struggle.  Deep in his gut, though, he had known that his father's ghost would always be stronger than he.

He swallowed the bitter taste of the past and forced himself to focus.  "You never knew him; why should you care?  Your father wasn't that bad, so you have nothing to get revenge for."

"My father abandoned me," she hissed.  

"Oh for pete's sake!" Buffy exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air.  "Has all that long hair strangled every brain cell you had left?  Angel is not your father!"

"Buffy," Giles said quietly from behind her, "now perhaps is not the time to..."

"He is so my daddy!"  Drusilla stamped her foot, and tightened her arm around Hank's chest.  "He told me so, over and over.  I remember."

"And I left you," Angel conceded, still trying to reach out to her.  "I regained my soul, Dru; I couldn't stay.  I didn't belong."

He never belonged; he knew that now.  All those decades and centuries trying to find a place that felt right, like it was waiting for him, and he didn't find it until he looked into the devastatingly open hazel eyes of a half-grown girl who knocked him flat on his ass, in every sense of the word.

"You belonged to me," Drusilla protested.  "We were a family.  A happy little family."

Until the Slayer ruined it, the stars murmured.  She should pay for that.  She must pay.

"I killed my family," Angel corrected her as the stars continued to whisper their sage advice.  "And I killed yours.  We were just playing at being human, using words and concepts that human beings use because they were familiar." He shook his head sadly.  "Words like family and love and trust have nothing to do with vampires."

"You did love me," she insisted.  "I was your perfect creation; how could you not love me?"

"I'm sorry, Dru; I really am."  

She tilted her head and considered the situation.  "Sorry for leaving me?"

"I'm sorry for leaving you alone, yes," he agreed, nodding jerkily.  "I did that before I killed you, when I took away your family and your mind.  I didn't leave you anything to protect yourself with."

Buffy's hand fell on his arm.  "It wasn't you, dammit.  If it was you, then this is the real Dru, not the demon you created.  You can't have it both ways."

He glanced down at her, standing defiantly by his side.  She would always be there, no matter his sins; he knew that now.

"I have been trying to have it both ways; I've been doing it for decades," he admitted with a ghost of a smile.  "I can't help but feel guilty for what the demon did, but I didn't do much better."  He faced Drusilla.  "I'm sorry for your death, and your family's death, but most of all I'm sorry I've been such a coward.  I should have staked you the minute I regained my soul."

Drusilla hissed, immediately drawing Buffy's attention from her anguished lover to her captive father.

"Angel, maybe you shouldn't..." she began.

He continued, oblivious to any outside forces.  "She wouldn't want her body to go on this way, not the real girl I talked to in London all those decades ago.  For what I did to her, I owe it to her to end this once and for all."

"You won't kill me," Drusilla purred, suddenly contented once more.  "You can't.  I'm your penance."

He nodded, taking another step towards her.  "You have been.  And a beautiful penance too, the kind that keeps on giving.  But it's time I stop wallowing and take some responsibility for my actions."  He could hear the echoes of his father's voice, overlaid with Buffy's, from his dream.  He had to make the ghosts work for him.  "Let Hank go, and we'll finish this ourselves.  Just you and me again, one last time."

* * * * *

A war raged on the Summers' front lawn, one largely ignored by the denial-happy residents of Sunnydale.  The Scoobies, Sunnydale and LA branches combined, were severely outnumbered, but the demons they battled seemed more interested in fighting for its own sake.  Blood was flowing, and bruises were multiplying, but despite the odds, fatalities were strangely absent.

After all, this was supposed to be a party, and what fun is the piñata after the filling falls out?

* * * * *

"One last dance, pet?" Drusilla cooed, swaying her body and Hank's to music only she could hear.  "Me and my Angel, dancing to the sound of starlight.  Except that the stars have gone silent."  She smiled at him as she leaned forward to take a little nip out of Hank's ear.

Buffy started to move on Drusilla the instant she saw fangs headed for her father's neck, but Angel's arm slammed out to hold her back.  She looked at him in alarm.

"Angel..."

"No," he said abruptly.  His eyes never left Dru's face.

Drusilla's tongue darted out to lap up the last traces of blood from the wound in Hank's ear.  The Slayer should have acted by now, she fretted silently; how much more must she do to set the little viper off?  Not only was Hank's body heat warming the vampire to an unbearable, almost human, degree, but she was getting bored again too.  If only he would struggle against her it might be some fun, but thanks to her hypnotic spell, he lay as quietly in her arms as one of her dolls.

And even in his waking moments he wasn't half the conversationalist Miss Edith was.

"It's almost dawn, my Angel," she purred.  "Time for good little vampires to crawl back into bed and pull the covers over their heads; all but me.  I have things to do, after I send dear Hank to heaven."  Dru pursed her lips and cocked her head to the side.  "He will be going to heaven, don't you think?  He was a very bad daddy to our dear little Slayer, but he's only human."

"That's right, he's only human.  No match for you, Dru."  Angel's voice rose and fell rhythmically, almost hypnotically.  "He's not the one you're angry with anyway.  You want me; I'm the one who hurt you.  I'm the one who told you what I wanted you to be, and then left because you were exactly that.  It's my fault; only mine."

Drusilla stared at Angel, her eyes black and bottomless pools.  "Do you really want to dance with me?"

It wasn't part of the plan, at least not yet.  The little Slayer should be punished first, and then there would be time for one lovely last dance with her Angel.  Still, it wouldn't do to get his guard up.  Best to humor him for now.

"I want to end this," he corrected her, swallowing his regrets at one more failure.

Angel did want to sever the ties that bound them together, but not this way, never this way.  It still seemed so unfair to end her existence for all time, when she was only being the creature he made her be.  She was his perfect creation, and he had to destroy her for it.

"Angel, let me."  

Buffy's plea was quiet, almost whispered, but he heard her clearly.  He only wished it were that simple.

"She's my responsibility.  I have to face up to my responsibilities."

_Yes Father, that much you did teach me_, he thought wistfully.  It took two and a half centuries, but he finally understood. 

"It's time, Dru." 

He wasn't going to let her do this her way; Drusilla could see that now.  Her plan had been so beautifully simple, and he ruined it with his wretched choirboy soul.  Responsibility.  Guilt.  Shame.  How dare he mock her this way?  She'd teach him not to blight his childe's hopes and abandon her to the tender mercies of a merciless world.  

And then she'd have breakfast.

Dru ran a sharp nail quickly and precisely across Hank's throat, laughing as the blood welled up and dripped on her hand.  She thrust him away from her a moment later, hurtling him into Buffy.  His dazed condition left Hank in no shape to slow down his trajectory, or alter it, and his greater weight drove both he and Buffy to the floor in a tangle.

"You may cut in," Drusilla allowed, with a gracious nod of her head.

* * * * *

Sirens wailed in the distance.  The Sunnydale police were in no hurry to interfere in a brawl that broke out at a costume party, but enough residents of Revello Drive had at last complained about the noise level, and damage to their own property, to warrant a quick stop.

The human combatants were more worried than relieved to hear the sirens; in the past, police interference had usually resulted in more casualties than it was worth.  Doyle and Cordelia, in particular, had little use for uniformed assistance after some less than productive encounters with Kate's co-workers.

The demons, on the other hand, seemed unnerved by the noise.  Though Sunnydale had an inordinately large number of alternate lifeforms, they generally lived a separate existence from their prey.  Contact, when it came, was swift, brutal, and under the cover of darkness.  Suddenly they were exposed to the coming light of day, engaged in a public brawl and about to be treated as...humans.

It was more than most of the demons could bear to contemplate.  One by one they broke off and scuttled away, aiming for the woods that ran along the end of Revello Drive.  The Elysian was the last to go, hurling himself, and Oz and Willow, at a tree to rend the gluey strands that bound the three together.  The instant he was free, the demon loped off into the underbrush, dragging large amounts of it with him ensnared in the trailing ropes of sticky excretions. 

* * * * *

Buffy struggled to push her injured father off of her, without hurting him further.  Giles and Joyce stood frozen at the foot of the stairs, fearful of disrupting the delicate balance in this war of nerves.  Angel had used the sudden commotion to his advantage, snatching up a stake from the pool of weapons scattered across the hardwood floor.  He now advanced on Drusilla as she stood swaying in the open doorway, bathed in the glow of another beautiful sunrise her "daddy" could not share.

So intent was he on the outcome of this confrontation, Angel forgot where his boundaries lay.  One step too far, and a sharp pain lanced through his foot as the morning light met his unwelcoming flesh, even through his heavy boot.

"Poor Angel," Drusilla murmured.  "Can't come to claim his dance.  One more thing my brave daddy can't finish."  She began to hum, spinning in circles in the doorway with one arm raised, as though it were he who twirled her around.  With each turn she edged further out of his safe reach.

A few more steps and she would be outside, where only the Slayer could reach her.

"No more," he growled.  "No more."

"Angel, don't!" Buffy cried out as she finally managed to settle her father safely on the Oriental rug.

Drusilla spun around to face Angel.  She was laughing, as he remembered seeing the real Dru do so very long ago.  She was singing and laughing and dancing, in a cruel parody of the girl she'd replaced.  It was the foulest display that Angel had ever seen, and it broke his heart to end it.

With one quick lunge he stepped out into the morning light and thrust the stake into her heart, the blow falling clean and true.  Without thinking he staggered backward into the safety of the house and stared as her smile dissolved into ash.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to the morning breeze.

* * * * *

She was still dancing.

Angel could not suppress the dazed laugh that spurted from his throat when he realized she was still dancing.  He was unmindful of his smoldering clothes, or the deadly sunlight creeping across the threshold; he could not retreat from the sight of those dust motes sparkling as they swirled through the air.

"Angel."  Buffy was at his side, tugging at his arm, pulling him further back into the foyer, back to safety, but his world had shrunk down to those particles of dust the wind was lifting off of his sleeve.

"She's dancing," he murmured.  "I remember watching her dance so many times.  The night I killed her family, she had gone to a party and I followed her.  I watched her dancing with one young man after another."   He glanced wildly about the room, as though expecting a band and guests to suddenly appear.  "It made me even more determined to break her."

"Angel, please."  She frantically looked him over for burns, but he seemed relatively unscathed.  The much maligned leather coat, which he had automatically donned in the face of battle, had served as a true suit of armor this time.  His hands showed the only real signs of the sun's fury, but the flames had died out quickly, and the scorched skin would soon heal.

She wasn't as sure about his eyes.

"When she escaped to the convent, I knew they wouldn't let her dance anymore.  And then when I turned her, I told her..." he suddenly gagged and sank to the floor, his back to the banister. "I told her that I saved her," Angel whispered in horror as he stared at the hardwood.  He could feel Buffy's eyes upon him, but he couldn't bear to face her.

Buffy glanced over at her father, but she was reassured to see Joyce stanching the flow of blood from his throat with her cardigan.  Hank, apparently returned to consciousness by Dru's death, was trying to help her hold the cloth in place.  Giles had rushed out onto the lawn to alert the police that they needed an ambulance, and the Scoobies, bloody but unbowed, were ranged in the doorway.  Angel was the one who needed her most.  She dropped to the floor beside him and gently touched his shoulder.

"Baby, it's okay," she murmured.  "It wasn't you.  It wasn't you."

He looked up at her blindly, the tears beginning to streak down his pale cheeks.  "I told her that I saved her," he repeated hopelessly.  "I was going to recreate her, make her something better than she was.  Save her from a boring, normal human life."

Joyce's head snapped around at the sound of his broken words, but any other confessions were muffled as Buffy pulled his head down onto her lap.  He lay huddled on the floor, a large man made suddenly small by the weight of the sins crushing down upon him.  Her daughter curled protectively over his back, stroking his hair and offering absolution he was not yet ready to accept.

Joyce heard the wail of an ambulance siren with relief, but she was suddenly unsure who was the greater casualty.

* * * * *

Less than a half-hour before, the Summers' living room had been filled with demons; now it was overrun with EMTs and police.  Hank was loaded on a stretcher and wheeled out, Joyce at his side.  She tried to get in the ambulance with him as well, but the attendants told her she would need to follow in her own car.

As she hurried back into her house to get her keys, Joyce heard a scraping sound from beneath her foot.  After the seemingly endless din of shrieking demons and breaking glass, she wasn't sure why this noise caught her attention, but it did.  Glancing down, she saw a small green crystal peeking out between her shoe and the concrete.  To the right of the crystal, off the walkway and half-hidden by the bushes where a busy EMT had kicked it, lay a twisted rope of antique gold.

Despite all the talk about this mythical Gem before the attack, Drusilla's presence had rendered it unimportant in the larger scheme of things. No one knew which of the many pieces of jewelry she had worn could make such a claim; in the ensuing uproar no one even remembered that she possessed it.

Joyce stared at the stone for a minute, as a thousand different visions of the future flew through her head.  The renewed wail of the ambulance siren at last pulled her from her reverie and pushed her up the final step through the front door.

But not before she had leaned down and pocketed the small green crystal that winked at her in the first light of dawn.

* * * * *

To Be Continued


	11. Chapter 11

Anam Cara

Part 11

By Gem

Buffy huddled over Angel on the hardwood floor in her mother's foyer, her limbs cramped but her soul unwilling to surrender.  She still stroked her lover's hair and back, offering succor he barely seemed to notice.  At least he was calmer now, his occasional breaths no longer dragged from the air in harsh gasps, his rambling confession first slowed and then silenced.  She wanted to get him away from the door, and the steadily approaching daylight, but he seemed oblivious to any danger.  

In truth, he seemed oblivious to everything, including Buffy.  His focus was inward, to some dark and distant place she could not reach.  She, in turn, knew only him.

"Buffy." 

No response, prompting Xander to clear his throat and try again.  

"Hey Buff.  I can fix the door, but I can't do anything with the shutters.  Not without plywood or something."  He gestured first to the living room and then to the dining room, both awash in the rosy glow of early morning's light.  "You're going to have to get Combusto-Boy out of the line of fire until dark."

She raised her head from its resting place on top of Angel's, slowly withdrawing from her attempted communion with her lover's troubled soul.

"I know.  We should go upstairs."  She looked down at Angel, still sprawled across her lap in dreadful silence.  "Angel, honey, we have to get up now."

For a moment she was afraid he was too lost in his own mind to hear her, but then he slowly began to draw himself upwards, folding one long limb into another until he was seated on the floor beside her.

"Well, that's step one," Xander said with false cheer.  "The next step is called stepping, strangely enough.  Up steps, stranger still.  Gotta love those crazy kids who invented the English language."  He leaned down and offered Angel his hand.  "This is, of course, a once in a lifetime offer, but...need a hand?"

Angel glanced up at the boy, expecting to see at least a glimmer of amusement at his expense.  He saw friendly concern, however, and a bewildering hint of compassion.

"I'm okay," the vampire answered in a hoarse voice.  "Thanks."

"Hey, Angel and Xander are being polite to each other," Cordelia complained.  "I thought the scary part was over."  She moved quickly across the living room, which she, Doyle, Anya and Xander had been attempting to clean.  "Angel, are you sure you're feeling...you?  I mean you were kind of on the far side of the universe for a while.  And your hands...are the burns gone now?"

He started to get to his feet, leaning heavily on Buffy as she clung to his waist.  "I'm fine, Cordy."

"He just needs rest," Buffy said quickly.  "We all do."

"He could probably use a pint too," Doyle said practically.  He seemed surprised by the glares that greeted him.  "I meant of blood.  The man got burned; he needs blood to heal completely.  He is a vampire, you know."

Buffy glanced anxiously at Angel's averted face.  She could feel the fatigue quivering in his limbs, more than he should suffer from the burns or the lack of sleep.

"Yeah, great idea," she answered absently.  "Can you get some?"

"We'll try that creep Willie's," Cordelia eagerly offered.  "You like his stuff, right Angel?"

Cordelia could deal with a brooding Angel, had in fact done so for many months before Buffy came back into his life.  But this vacant and dependent Angel frightened her deeply.  If blood was what it took to put him back on his feet, then blood was what he would get.  She'd even bleed into a bottle herself.

After everyone else had kicked in a pint first, of course.

"He was closed last night.  You'd better call first."  Buffy guided Angel into a slow turn towards the staircase.

"Sure.  I'll just use my..." Cordelia looked quickly around the ravaged house, her gaze finally coming to rest upon Doyle.  "Doyle, what did you do with my cell phone?  I gave it to you last night on patrol because I didn't want to carry a purse."

"Phone?" he said blankly.

"Yeah, phone," she snapped.  "Honestly, you're worse than Angel with those things.  Every time I turn around we're getting new cells because you've lost them."  She stalked off to the kitchen, calling over her shoulder as she went, "You keep phone hunting; I'm going to look up Willie's in the yellow pages.  Do you think they have a listing for bars for alternative lifeforms?"

Angel suddenly turned to face Buffy, seeming to really see her for the first time.  His brow creased as he took in the multitude of raw scratches on her face and arms, and the tears in her clothing.

"Are you all right?" he asked hoarsely.  The hand he had been using to guide himself along the wall came up to trace a cut on her lip.  "You were bleeding."

"I'm fine, Angel," she quickly reassured him.  "Nothing a few band-aids and abnormally fast healing won't take care of."  

She smiled hopefully at him, praying his concern was a sign of returning equilibrium.  Unfortunately, Angel's brief interest in the real world waned once he was assured of her well-being.  His gaze shifted once more, from her face to a place somewhere beyond the wall at the top of the stairs.

The Slayer sighed and focused on gently forcing her battle-scarred boyfriend up each wooden step towards her bedroom.

"Angel, just a few more," she pleaded half under her breath.  "Not much further, I promise."

There was a moment of silence before he rumbled quietly, "I remember." 

He faced her steadily this time as he spoke, and there was a faint sign of the man she loved lurking in the dark depths of his brown eyes.

"Good," she said simply, trying to mask the extent of her relief.

"Are you sure the curtains are closed?" Anya suddenly called from below.  She was on the stairs in an instant, brushing past them on her way to Buffy's bedroom.  At the top of the stairs she collided with Willow as the witch emerged from the upstairs bathroom.

"Oh, I'm umm...well, sorry, Anya," Willow stammered, backing up into Oz as he exited the bathroom behind her.

Anya looked at Willow and then down at the front of her halter and capri slacks.  "You didn't stick," she said flatly.  "Why didn't you stick?"

"We're goo-free now."  Willow held up her hands.  "See."

"Cordelia wouldn't let us in the rest of the house until we got cleaned up," Oz added, shrugging his shoulders at the mystery that is Woman.

"Then you may help me clean now," Anya announced, with more than a little satisfaction.  "You dripped Elysian spit all over the stairs when you came up here, and it's making it impossible to wipe the Borkian blood off the wood.  Xander says it will take the finish off if we don't get it cleaned up soon."

Willow glanced over Anya's shoulder at Buffy and Angel as they slowly cleared the top step.

"Maybe we should help Buffy instead," Willow said gently.  "Is there anything we can do?"

Anya rolled her eyes at their blindness.

"Fine, let Xander spend a weekend refinishing Mrs. Summers' staircase instead of having sex with me," she called loudly over her shoulder as she stalked into Buffy's bedroom.  "As if anyone cares about my feelings."

Willow grimaced at Anya's retreating back and glanced again at Buffy.  "So, can we help you guys?  Cause, you know, Borkian blood mixed with Elysian goo...so very not my favorite thing right now."

Buffy glanced up at Angel's set face and made a decision.

"Yeah, you could, Will.  Would you guys go to the hospital and check on my dad?"

"We're on it," Oz promised, reaching for Willow's hand almost before Buffy finished her request.  "Should we bring him anything?"  
  


"Buffy," Angel said shortly.

Buffy turned to him as they entered her bedroom.  'What is it, Angel?"

He smiled wearily at her as he sat down heavily on the foot of the bed.  "I meant they should bring him you.  He needs you right now."

She was on her knees before him in an instant, clutching his unnaturally hot and reddened hands in her own.  The quick wince that he tried to hide from her automatically loosened her grasp, but she did not let go entirely.

"You need me.  Dad has my mom, and Mom has Giles.  They can take care of each other.  I just thought Willow and Oz could spell them if they need it, and you know, maybe bring back a report or something."  She tried to sound confident of good news, blocking out the memory of all that blood.  "In case there's anything to report."

Willow glanced anxiously at Oz.  "Maybe we should wait downstairs for a few minutes and let them talk."  She took a few steps back and waited in the open doorway for Oz and Anya to follow her lead.

Oz gave the proposition careful thought as he ambled out of the bedroom.  "How about you wait, and I'll get started on the stairs?  Just in case."

"But I want to hear," Anya protested.  "For eleven hundred years I heard couples do nothing but argue.  I had no idea make-up sex even existed until I met Xander."

Willow didn't bother replying; she just groaned as she reached in and grabbed Anya's hand to drag the ex-vengeance demon into the hallway.  Oz stepped back to let the girls past, grinning as he closed the door behind them.

Angel paid no more attention to their departure than to their presence.  "You're worried about him.  It's okay; I understand.  I'd understand less if you weren't."  He pulled one hand free of Buffy's tender restraint and pressed it against her flushed cheek.  

She didn't want to worry, but she couldn't stop seeing the blood. So very much blood.  Kendra died from the same type of wound, inflicted by the same vampire, and she hadn't bled that much.  At least not that Buffy remembered.  Not that she actually could remember much of that night besides Angel.

Angel.  She couldn't save him then, but she was not about to lose him to Fate, or anything else, ever again.

She shook off the past with a conscious effort. "My dad is in a hospital, and he's being taken care of by professionals.  He's all right," she insisted, kissing Angel's palm before she gently pushed his hand away from her face and began to ease him out of his leather coat.  

"And I'm all right," Angel countered, shrugging his shoulders to help free his arms from the sleeves.  "A little singed and a lot sad, but still here.  And I will be here when you get back," he added, shrewdly guessing a major source of her hesitation.

"I never thought..." she protested, as a traitorous little voice in her head sighed with relief at his promise.  

Angel looked at her steadily, offering her love and understanding with his eyes that he could never begin to express within the limiting structure of human words.

"Go to him," was all he said.

"I don't want to leave you alone," she whispered, laying her head on his lap.

He twined his fingers in the long strands of golden hair that trailed across his hands.  Even her hair seemed to be a living creature, vibrating with as much energy as the heart he could hear pounding in her chest.  She was so full of life, and he was death incarnate.  

And like all polar opposites, neither could exist without the other as a part of the definition.

"Do you still love me?" he asked quietly, almost casually.

Her head snapped upward, an unbelieving hazel-eyed stare meeting his pensive gaze.

"Yes."  

A single, bewildered syllable was all that she could manage in answer.  After all that bound them together, could he honestly doubt that basic truth?

"Then I'm not alone."  Angel pulled her hands up to his chest, ignoring the twinge of pain he felt as he clasped them tightly over his heart.  He bent down to brush her lips with a kiss, murmuring against her lips, "Go to him." 

She pulled back and looked deep into his eyes, taking the measure of his newfound calm.  He seemed sad, and still a little lost, but overall much steadier than she had seen him since Drusilla delivered her last laughing taunt.

"I'll be back soon," Buffy promised.  She got to her feet, but couldn't seem to make herself step away from him.

"Take your time; I'm not going anywhere," he said, showing a welcome trace of his usual wry humor.  "If you want to stay all day, I'll come join you when the sun sets."

She bent down and held his face in her hands, giving him a quick, fierce kiss.  "I'll come back early, and then we'll go back together tonight.  And then, after that, we'll go home.  Well, the Sunnydale version."  She ventured a wheedling smile.  "But at least it has a bed."

"And houseguests," he reminded her gently.

"We will get them a hotel room," she said, ruthlessly abandoning all pretense of hospitality.  "I'm all for friendship and one for all and all for one, but not all for one room.  Not after last night."

"Sounds good to me."  The weariness had returned full force; he lay back on the bed and closed his eyes, murmuring, "Sleep now."

"I love you," she whispered as she backed out of the door.

"Love you too," he mumbled, rolling over onto his side as he blindly reached up for a pillow.  Perhaps in sleep he could escape the endless echo of Drusilla's laugh, which thus far only Buffy's voice had drown out.

* * * * *

Buffy hated hospitals.

She hated the sounds and the smells and blinking lights and the hurried footsteps.  Most of all she hated the knowledge that whatever occurred between these walls was beyond her power to prevent.  She, who defended the innocent, and sometimes even the not-so-innocent, all day every day, was forcibly off-duty the moment she walked through the automatic doors of a hospital.

She really wished Angel was beside her as she walked into the Emergency Room.  Willow and Oz were the best of best buddies, especially Willow, but they couldn't take the place of her beloved.  They couldn't make her feel safe when every bone in her body was screaming "Danger, Will Robinson!"  They couldn't hold her hand hard enough to for her really feel it, and they wouldn't know when to stop treating her with kid gloves and make her behave like a grown-up.

The only thing that kept her placing one foot in front of the other down that long cold tiled hallway was the knowledge that Angel needed her at home, and if he could let her go in one of his darkest moments, she could be brave enough to face down IV tubing and beeping monitors.

A nurse at the front desk had directed them to the room where her father had been admitted.  Buffy walked just a pace ahead of Willow and Oz down the hallway, determined not to give in to her fear.  Still, it was with a palpable feeling of relief that she recognized Giles sitting in one of the waiting room chairs.

"Buffy," he called out softly.  "I didn't expect you for several more hours."  He hurried to meet them halfway, taking Buffy's elbow when he reached them.  "Your mother is in with your father."

Buffy glanced up at the man she thought of as her other father.  "How is he?"

"He's...well, here's your mother.  You can ask her," Giles stammered.  "She's been talking to the doctors more than I."

Buffy saw Joyce leaving one of the rooms, pulling the door closed behind her.  She darted ahead of the others to greet her mother.

"Mom.  How is he?"

Joyce sighed; pushing her slightly bedraggled blonde locks off of her forehead as she tried to pull herself together for her daughter's sake.  Hank's injury frightened her more than she would have expected, and it was hard work to stay calm and focused.  Even if she had occasionally told Hank to drop dead during the disintegration of their marriage, she'd never thought he might someday obey.  

"He's resting now." She laid her hand gently on Buffy's shoulder.  "He lost a fair amount of blood, but it looked worse than it really is.  She didn't go wide enough to hit any major blood vessels, and it wasn't deep enough to touch his windpipe."

"You're sure?" Buffy asked insistently.

Her mother grinned wryly.  "He's going to have an interesting scar to explain at work, but he'll be okay."

Buffy slumped against the wall, a dizzying feeling of relief sweeping over her.  Her father was going to be okay; her mother said so.  He had been hurt, and Angel as well, if some wounds showed less than others.  But they would both be okay.  She wouldn't settle for anything less.

As if reading her daughter's mind, Joyce cleared her throat and forced herself to assume an offhanded tone.  "And Angel?  How is he?"

Buffy heard the question clearly; complete with all the underlying threads it was bound in.  "He's a little shaky, but he's going to be fine."  She paused before carefully adding, "Thanks for asking."

"He, well, he seemed very upset over what happened.  I didn't realize...that is I know you were worried about him but I didn't know it...I'm, well, I'm just glad he's feeling better."

"He's not," Buffy said shortly.  She was a little angered by her mother's assumption of such a quick recovery, but a quiet cough from Giles reminded her that everyone was feeling the strain of the past few days.  "He's not," she repeated in a more moderate tone, "but he will be."

Joyce drew a deep breath and looked at her daughter steadily.  "I'm sure you'll see to that."

"I will."  

The quiet moment of understanding was broken by a wailing heart monitor and pounding footsteps in the distance.  Buffy looked alarmed, despite her mother's apparent calm.

"It's not your father, Buffy," Joyce said softly.  "See for yourself."  She pushed open the door and gently steered Buffy inside the dimly lit room.

"Dad," Buffy said weakly to the quiet figure on the bed.

Hank raised his hand, but before he could speak, Joyce forestalled him.  "He's not supposed to talk," she said sternly.  "Not for a day or two, unless he really needs to.  He might pull out stitches."

Buffy took a few steps closer to the bed and peered anxiously at the bandages showing snowy white even against her father's grayish tan.  

"She didn't hit the jugular," she murmured to herself.  "No, of course not; you wouldn't be here if she hit...she really didn't hit anything important?" 

Hank shook his head, a faint ghost of a smile crossing his white lips.  "Muscles," he whispered, before wilting in the face of Joyce's glare.

"I'll do the talking, mister," she said firmly.  "I waited most of our marriage for the chance to have the last word, and I'm determined to get it while the getting is good."  Her smile removed the sting from her words, and was rewarded by an echoing smile from her ex-husband.

Buffy glanced from her mother to her father, amazed at the harmony she sensed between them.  She hadn't seen her parents so comfortable in each other's company since she was a little girl, and it gave her a warm, almost forgotten, feeling of belonging.  

These two people, as hard and as often as they had fought, had once shared a bond that time could wear smooth, but never eradicate.  She was the product of that bond, but not its only expression.  It would endure in the people they touched during their lives, because their own lives had changed from loving each other.  It would endure in the lives of those she touched, especially in Angel, and it would continued to spread outwards as long as none of them closed off from humanity.

It was family, in its simplest form.  Now all she had to do was convince each member of this family that no one was expendable.  Especially not the man she loved.

* * * * *

Buffy spent a few hours at the hospital with her parents, trying to make conversation with her father and repeatedly being scolded by her mother for her efforts.  Finally she gave up and made her farewells, not without a certain feeling of relief.  She knew Angel was all right; someone would have called her otherwise.  But seeing was believing, and she really needed to be able to believe right now.

Her mother's house was almost back to normal by the time she arrived.  Willow and Oz had returned with Giles as soon as she went in to see her father, and the combined forces of all her friends had accomplished miracles against the legions of demon blood and broken glass.

Of course Xander's construction company contacts hadn't hurt either; the windows weren't replaced yet, but they were neatly boarded up, and the front door seemed good as new when she pushed it open.

Cordelia spotted her first, though Buffy had tried to be quiet as she snuck up the stairs.

"He's still asleep," Cordelia said softly, hurrying over to the foot of the staircase.  "We've been talking turns checking in on him, so he wouldn't get mad at any one of us, but he's slept through it all."

"Sleeps like the dead, that man does," Xander joked as he wandered into the hallway.

Buffy made a face at him before returning her attention to Cordelia.  "I guess it makes sense; he's had a really rough day, and it's not like we've gotten a lot of sleep since my dad showed up with Dru," she said.  "I just want...I mean I don't want him to shut himself away over this."

"Give him time, Buffy."  Cordelia laid her hand over Buffy's on the railing.  "He's scaring me too right now, but give him time.  He'll bounce back."  She gave Buffy her best professional 'Yes-you've-grown-a-tail-and horns-overnight-but-we-don't-think-there's-any-reason-to-be-concerned' smile.  "He's a very bouncy vampire."

"Just call him the Tigger of the demon set," Willow chimed in, leaving the kitchen to join her oldest surviving friends.  "A-N-double 'grr'-E...no, wait, that only works if he used two 'g's in his name."  She cocked her head to the side, as though seriously pondering the dilemma.  "Do you think he'd mind changing the spelling?  Cause otherwise it really works.  I mean he is the only one of his kind and all.  And he does 'grr' really well."

Xander patted her shoulder.  "We'll work on him, Will.  Just for you."

* * * * *

Angel finally woke up at sunset, to find Buffy curled up next to him on the bed.  In some subconscious way he had already sensed her presence in his sleep, and rested more easily because of it, but it still gave him a queer throb of pleasure deep in his weary soul to see her blonde head resting just below his chin when he first opened his eyes.

He lay very still, not only guarding her hard-won rest, but also the privilege of watching her sleep.  He loved how active and vibrant Buffy was during her waking hours; she gave him life by the very ferocity with which she lived her own.  But he also long cherished these quiet moments, when he could observe her soul undisturbed.  Once upon a time, it was the only way he could drop the walls between them, when sleep robbed her of the ability to hide her feelings, and him of the necessity to hide his.  That need was now gone, but the hunger remained.

He was musing on this strange reality, working very hard to push all other realities to the back of his mind, when he felt her stir.  He brushed his lips against the top of her head.

"Go back to sleep," he murmured into her hair.  

For a moment he felt her relax, as though she was going to do as he suggested, but then her arms tightened around his chest and her cheek began to slide along his ribs until she turned her head to face him.

"Hi," she said softly, staring deep into his eyes.

He smiled down at her, hearing every unspoken question implicit in that simple word.  

"How was your dad?" he asked, trying to turn her focus from him.

"Being bullied by Mom, but I think he's loving every minute of it.  Reminds him of old times, I guess.  She talks; he ignores."  She slid her elbow beneath her body to prop herself up and looked hard at him.  "How are you?"

"Not in the hospital," he countered.  He turned his head slightly to verify what he already felt in his bones.  "The sun's set; we can go back to see him if you're up to it."

"I'm fine," she said sharply.  "You're the one I'm worried about."

He ran his hand through her long hair, trying to smooth out the only tangles he felt capable of fixing.  "I've had better days, but I've had worse too.  I'll survive."  His eyes remained focused on the bright gold strands sliding through his fingers, carefully avoiding her concerned gaze.

"Not good enough.  We deserve more than that."  The hand that had been resting flat on his chest suddenly clenched into a small fist.  "You deserve more than that."

He laughed, a short choked sound displaying little in the way of good feeling.  "My father used to say what a fine mess I'd be in if ever I got what I deserved."

"Angel..."

He sat up abruptly, gently but firmly pushing her to the side as he rose.  "And speaking of fathers, yours is in the hospital, thanks to one of my old drinking buddies.  I think I probably should go apologize for a few things, like almost getting him killed."

She drew her legs up in front of her chest, huddling defensively on the bed.  "It wasn't your fault," she argued.  "If you are, were, responsible for Dru, then Darla was responsible for Angelus, and the Master was responsible for her, and all the way back up the line."

He crossed the room and stood in front of the closed door, his hand hovering over the knob.  His voice was steady and strong, but he wouldn't turn to look at Buffy. 

"And I'm the one who should have been the end of the line."  His shoulders slumped in defeat for just an instant, not long enough for Buffy to reach out to him.  "I'll be waiting downstairs when you're ready to go."

The door opened and he slipped out, silent as the Angel of old.

"Angel!" she called uselessly after him.  "We're not done talking about this, dammit!"

The only answer was the click of the latch as he closed the door behind him.  

* * * * *

Joyce was nowhere in sight when Buffy cautiously opened the door to Hank's hospital room.  The Slayer peered into the corners, and glanced at the open door to the bathroom, but a sleeping Hank seemed to be the only occupant.  As far as Buffy was concerned, this was all to the good.  Angel wasn't in the greatest shape to be dealing with one of her parents, let alone facing a tag team approach.

Hank turned his head a moment after she and Angel stepped into the room.  "Buffy, is that you?"

His voice was rough, and very soft, but he sounded much stronger than Buffy remembered from just a few short hours before.  She squeezed Angel's hand in relief as she answered, "Yes, Daddy.  Angel and I came to see you."  She took a few steps closer to the bed before stopping.  "Is it okay?  That you're seeing us too, I mean.  Do you want to sleep some more first?"

Hank quickly shook his head, but regretted it a moment later when his grimace of pain set off guilty looks on the faces of his daughter and her boyfriend.  

"No more sleep for now," he rasped.  "Need to talk to you."  He glanced from Buffy to Angel, taking their measure in the dim light afforded by the lone fluorescent bulb stretched over the head of his bed.  "Both of you," he clarified.

"Should you be talking?" Buffy asked anxiously.  

Hank grinned and nodded at the door.  "Warden went to get some dinner.  She's the one who thinks I shouldn't talk.  The doctor says I'm fine."

Angel pulled a chair over to the bed for Buffy, and took his place behind her, his large hands resting on either side of her shoulders as she leaned against the caned back.

"Dad, we really just wanted to see how you were, and if you needed anything," Buffy said swiftly.  She leaned forward and took one of her father's waxen hands in her own.  "Talking can wait till you're stronger."

"Shouldn't put things off," he answered stubbornly.  "Never know when you're going to run out of time to do them." A quick, rueful smile, so like Buffy's that it made Angel's chest hurt, darted across Hank's face.   "I learned that one the hard way."

"You're right," Angel said.  His hands reflexively tightened on the back of Buffy's chair.  "That's why I need to tell you right now how sor..." He stopped with a choked laugh that made Buffy turn in her chair and grip one of his clenched fists.  "Sorry," he continued when he regained a small measure of his equilibrium.  "Somehow 'sorry' doesn't quite cover this one, but it's all I have to offer.  I'm sorry for how my past put you in danger, and sorry for not making it all end sooner, and sorry for...well, I've done pretty much everything there is to do in my time, and I'm sorry for most of it."

Hank considered the vampire's words carefully.  He'd known this moment was going to come; he'd known it since he first woke up in that strange old mansion at Drusilla's mercy.  At that precise point in time, he wasn't sure if he was going to live long enough to settle things with Angel, but he knew if he did, they were in for a long and awkward confrontation.

Not one of your better perks of survival, Hank reflected, but here they were.  He and his only child, and the vampire she was adored.  The vampire who adored her right back.  There was definite Kodak moment potential here, but only if he used better judgment than he had so far.

"Does this mean you're sorry for loving my daughter?" he asked at length.  

Angel regarded him steadily.  "No.  Never that."

"Are you sorry she loves you?"

A brilliant smile flashed across Angel's somber features, and then was gone.  "Sorry for her maybe, but not for me."

Hank reached under his head to push his pillows up against the headboard, and edged himself up against them.  Once he was settled, he reached for the glass of water on the nightstand next to the bed and took a long drink.  When he finished, he set the glass down on the table, making a clink that echoed in the otherwise silent room.

"Then I don't see what you're apologizing for," Hank said blandly, looking squarely into Angel's shuttered face.  "You tried to tell me the truth, and I wouldn't listen.  Ran out like a teenager.  Then you, and Buffy, saved my life."  He gently touched the bandages at his throat.

"Which wouldn't have needed saving if it weren't for me," Angel said patiently.  He appreciated Hank's generosity, but he knew it was the result of gross oversimplification.  Eventually Hank would realize that too.  "Dru went after you deliberately, to get to me.  She almost killed you; she probably would have if I'd left her a few more marbles to play with."

Buffy looked alarmed at his last sentence, but Hank took the confession calmly.  "It's okay, honey.  Drusilla told me how she and Angelus...met.  Actually she told me a lot yesterday, pretty much everything she knew about him."  He leveled a sharp look at his only daughter.  "I'm expecting the same thing from you about Angel, by the way."

"Daddy, I'm sorry we didn't tell you all this before," Buffy said quickly.  "And I am so beyond sorry that I didn't warn you about vampires...bad vampires...a long, long time ago."  She slumped against the back of her chair, barely feeling Angel's cool hand digging into her shoulder.  "I'm the Slayer; I'm supposed to protect people.  I can't even protect my own father."  

"It wasn't your fault," Angel all but growled.  "She was my responsibility."

"Stop this," Hank said sharply.  "It's done."  

He cleared his throat, and immediately felt the arrows of pain shooting in every direction.  Logically he knew it was a warning not to talk, but somehow it only made him determined to make the pain count for something.

"She's gone, and we're not," he continued, though in a milder tone of voice.  "I don't want to waste any more time thinking about what should have happened, or even what did.  I'm just grateful to be here, and I wouldn't be if it weren't for the two of you."

"That's very generous of you, sir."  Angel's polite tone indicated more than a little disbelief. 

"Hank.  Call me Hank. We were past the 'sir' part before all this happened," Hank insisted.  Suddenly a bizarre thought crossed his mind.  "Actually, if you get right down to it, shouldn't I be calling you sir?  You are older, after all."

He wasn't sure how his joke would go over, and he was relieved when a small smile graced the vampire's face.  His daughter appeared comforted as well, the hand she clasped over Angel's relaxing slightly, though not enough to break the connection.

"He's a little sensitive about the age difference," she confided in a stage whisper.  An impish glance over her shoulder told her that she could push Angel a little further in the hope of raising his spirits.  "And whatever you do, don't try that 'When I was a boy I had to walk twelve miles uphill in the blinding snow to get to school' routine on him.  He's got a real thing about declining educational standards these days."

"Is that why your grades picked up this year?" Hank asked hopefully.

"Sort of.  Mostly I decided I couldn't get by on my great looks and superpowers forever...but he's been a good influence on me too."

It was intended to be a compliment, but somehow it fell more as an indictment, at least to one as self-conscious as Angel.

"I need to make up for all the times I..."

Hank held up his hand, trying to halt the confession in its infancy.  "I know there's a lot Buffy needs to tell me about the two of you, but I'm not looking for 'True Confessions' here.  Whatever you did to my daughter is in the past.  She's obviously forgiven you for it, and I don't think I have the right to get mad on her behalf at this late date."  He leveled a stern gaze at Angel.  "Of course the future is anybody's ballgame."

"Angel would never hurt me," Buffy said confidently.  "He couldn't."  The rigid stillness she could suddenly feel in Angel's hand on her shoulder forced her to add, "At least, not anymore.  And before...he only hurt me to keep the demon from doing a better job of it."

"That's one way of putting it," Angel said sarcastically.

She turned around in her chair and glared up at him.  "If we're talking about the leaving town thing, you know I'm right.  And if we're talking about what I think we're talking about, you were dying.  The only thing you need to apologize for that night was making me beat you up before you'd drink."

Angel's eyes immediately shifted to a scar on Buffy's neck, and Hank's eyes were only a beat behind.  The scar was fairly small; two pale ridges of flesh rising from the tanned landscape of her throat.  If Angel hadn't pointed it out, albeit silently, Hank might never have realized what the marks signified.

Angel had bitten his little girl.

Hank could feel anger bubbling within him, brought on not only by the harm done to his daughter, but also himself.  Harm caused by vampires like this man.  For a brief moment he found himself in the rare position of sharing an opinion with his ex-wife.

And then he noticed the tear slipping silently down his daughter's cheek.  Buffy was staring at Angel with her heart in her eyes, and it was obvious that the only thing she regretted about that scar was the pain it was causing him.  Hank replayed her words in his mind, and realized they still had a long way to go before he really got to know his own daughter.

"I think I'm missing some details here," he said cautiously.  "And I probably don't need to hear them all now.  Maybe never; I'm not sure."  He thought for a moment about all the tales Drusilla had shared with him, and how few he intended to pass on to his daughter.  "I guess I'm going to have live by my own words and let the past rest."

"But we're clear on the difference, right?" Buffy brushed the tear from her cheek with an impatient swipe of her hand as she turned her wide beseeching hazel eyes on her father. "No mix-up between Angel and the demon he time-shares with?"

"We're clear," Hank assured her, though somewhat less heartily than a few minutes earlier.  "You've known Angel for a couple of years now, and I trust your opinion of him.  Strangely enough, I still trust mine too."  He felt a sharp tugging in his abused throat muscles, but forced himself to go on.  If he said the words, he could make himself believe them.  "I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for everything."

He could only hope he would survive the telling.

Buffy leaned forward again and pressed a kiss to his cheek.  "You should get some rest.  Mom is going to kill me if we let you talk anymore."

He stretched out his hand to pat her golden head before she sat back down.  "Your mother worries too much," he whispered, giving in to the ache in his throat.  "Don't let this one do the same," he added with a small smile, nodding his head at Angel.

Buffy glanced up at her beloved, taking in the set line of his lips, the distance in his brown-eyed gaze, the characteristic guilty slouch of his body.  None of it spelled 'happy Angel' to her.

"Well, you always said I needed long-term goals," she answered.

* * * * *

Hank had almost drifted off to sleep when he heard the door open and Joyce's glass-encrusted rubber soles click across the tile.  He didn't bother to open his eyes this time; there was no need between them for a show of strength.

"Are you ever going to go home and change?" he grumbled good-naturedly.  "Those shoes of yours are getting on my nerves."

She was beside his bed a moment later, pouring the glass of water he didn't want, but probably needed anyway.

"This is the thanks I get for being a forgiving ex-wife?"  She sniffed and tried to sound annoyed.  "You bring your girlfriend over to wreck my house, I end up having to play nurse for you, and yet you're still treating like I'm the old ball and chain."

He smiled as he opened his eyes and accepted the water he had known she would be holding out.  "She brought me, and I seem to recall hearing you were the one who invited her in to begin with."  His eyes twinkled at her over the edge of the glass as he took a sip from it.

"God, what a mess this is, Hank."  Joyce abruptly ceased her teasing and sat on the edge of his bed.  "I'm not sure whether to be sorry for you because you got dragged into all this the hard way, or mad that you got to miss so much of what happened before.  Maybe if you had been around more, we could have avoided this day somehow."

His instinct was to lash out, to wound her as sharply as she did him.  But something, perhaps the painkiller swimming through his veins, or maybe just the realization of his failed responsibilities, made him tread lightly.

"I would have been a little more careful who I invited to a family dinner; you've got me there, Joyce."  When his jest wasn't met with a smile, he abandoned humor for the straight truth.  "I should have been here for Buffy; I know that now.  I screwed up and I can't change that.  But maybe there is some good that came from it."  He took another fortifying swig of water, sensing a long discussion ahead of them.

"That is so like you."  She pursed her lips and turned her head to stare at the blinds drawn over the windows.  "Always seeing the rainbows while you hide from the storm."

"I can see her as an adult, Joyce," he said gently.  "I missed the teenage years.  Through my own fault," he added hastily, "I missed them.  She went from little girl to young woman while I was busy with my job and my own life.  But at least that lets me see her as a woman.  You're having trouble with that one because you're looking at her from too close up."

"So me being an attentive parent is suddenly a fault?"  She whipped her sharp gaze back to his contrite face.  "You don't know what's been going on, Hank.  You don't know what she's been through, and how much of it he's caused, even if he didn't mean to."

Hank held up his hands in surrender.  "You're a good mother, Joyce; no one ever said different.  But Buffy doesn't need either of us the way she used to."  He tried to smile over the prospect, but the result came out a little twisted.  "She does need him, though.  And you're going to have to get used to it."

Joyce quickly got to her feet and began to pace.  "You shouldn't be talking this much; it's bad for your throat."  She turned to the door.  "I should go."

"I'm perfectly fine, and we have to talk about this."  The rasp in his throat belied his words, but he wasn't about to let a little pain stop him when he could use it to his advantage instead.  It reminded him of all that he could have lost, and now refused to.  "He's not going away, even if you close your eyes and wish really hard.  We have to deal with him."

"You don't have to sound so pleased," Joyce snapped.  When she turned to face him again, it was with her hands on her hips and exasperation in her voice. "I can't believe after all you've been through you would be saying this.  I thought once you knew..."

"I do know; that's the problem.  Drusilla told me things I will never share with anyone, and I wish to God that I had never heard them myself."  Hank closed his eyes for a moment, willing away the inexorable echo of that cold...dead...sweet voice.  She was gone, though, and Buffy remained; now was about his daughter.  "But unlike you, I got to know who Angel is before I learned what he is, and that makes a difference."

It did; he swore it did.

Joyce sighed and reluctantly sat down on one of the chairs.  "Buffy introduced him before I knew...but she's kept him carefully out of my way ever since.  I think the past few days is the most time I've ever spent with Angel."

"He's not such a bad guy, if you'll give him a chance, Joycie."

Joyce felt the green gem in her pocket weighing her down. Buffy hadn't mentioned it when she was here earlier, not had Giles or Willow or Oz.  Everyone seemed to have forgotten it, except for Joyce.  It bumped against her hip whenever she moved, and lay warmly against her side when she was still, serving as an ever-present reminder of chaos.  It upset the natural order of this unnatural world her daughter was forced to navigate, and in the wrong hands it could become an instrument of evil between the space of two heartbeats.  

But in her daughter's reality of blackish greys and greyish whites, which were the wrong hands, and who got to decide that they were wrong?

"Hank, it kills me to say this, but you're right.  We need to talk."  She wagged a finger at him as she shivered in disgust.  "But only if you promise never to call me 'Joycie' again."  

He grinned and reached out to grab her hand with the tips of his fingers.  "I'll even shake on it."

* * * * *

Buffy crept into the darkened bedroom, tossing her robe in the general direction of the chair before she slid into the bed beside Angel.  His cool arm automatically slid around her shoulders and pulled her close to his side, right where she wanted to be.

"Cordy and Doyle settled in?" he murmured.  

She nodded, burrowing her head into his shoulder and pressing a kiss on his smooth chest.  "Mmm, finally.  Still think we should have sent them to a hotel."  She giggled softly, any discontent with the situation rapidly fading in the comfort of Angel's embrace.  "Looks like we did forget to make up the guest room, though, just like you thought."

"Oops."

She brushed the flat of her hand across his chest, trying to stay in constant reassuring contact with him.  He needed to feel connected to her and the world, and she wasn't about to let him slip away through laziness.

"Well, they're all set now, and since Dad said he was going to be staying with Mom for a few days after they release him, we won't have to do it again.  Not until someone visits us in LA."

"Mmm."  He nuzzled her hair and closed his eyes, trying to let the scent of her skin, her hair, fill his consciousness and drive out all the demons, real or imagined.

"Angel," she said hesitantly, "he does forgive you.  You believe that, don't you?"  She twisted her head to look up in the direction of his face, though he was invisible in the darkened room.

"Of course."  

His answer was too quick, his tone too noncommittal for Buffy's taste.  

"You don't, do you?  Or you do, but you think he'll change his mind.  That's it, isn't it?"  She reached up by instinct and pressed her hand to his unseen cheek. "You're always saying how much I look like him.  Well, I get my stubbornness, to ideas and to people, from him too.  He's not going to change his mind about you any more than I am."

Angel opened his eyes and gazed down at Buffy, his vampire senses allowing him to actually see her, at least dimly, even in the dark.  

Her jaw was fixed, her lips a firm line, her eyes resolute.  As always, she was determined to protect him from anyone who would hurt him, including himself.  He loved her for that, but at times like this, he also feared for her.  

Somehow he had to live up to her courage.

"Buffy, even if he changes his mind, I know you won't.  I do trust that, honestly."  He shifted restlessly in the bed, dislodging Buffy's head from his shoulder as he twisted and turned.  "I just need some time to process everything."

She remained still for a moment, and then scooted over to curl up against his side again.  "Time you can have, but the days of wide-open spaces is over in California, mister.  I'm sticking right by your side until you're the you you used to be again."

"You mean the guy who hid in the shadows with his regrets for a century?"  He was only half-kidding.

"I mean the man who stood up to every dirty trick the Powers threw at him and still had enough courage left over to share it with me."  She wound her leg around his as she nestled in for the night.  "You're a survivor, Angel, and so am I.  We will get through this."

Eventually Buffy drifted off to sleep, while Angel lay silently, listening to her breathe.  He tried to imagine a point in time when they had actually gotten past all the heartache his past inspired, and his biggest concern would be her occasional tendency to snore.  He wanted so badly for that day to come, but right now he couldn't even picture it.  

Or maybe he was just afraid to, in light of past experience. Invariably, whenever they thought all the problems were behind them, something new crawled over the horizon and they were forced back into survival mode.

He was tired of just surviving and 'getting through' things; he wanted to live.  

Whether he deserved to or not.

* * * * *

To Be Continued


	12. Chapter 12

**Anam Cara**

**Part 12**

By Gem 

****

The page of the magazine crackled as she turned it over, creating a strangely loud sound in the silent apartment.  Buffy smoothed the glossy picture flat as she stared unseeingly into the model's heavily made-up eyes.

Another quiet day loomed large in front of her.  Doyle and Cordelia had already left, trying to give their hosts some time alone.  She and Angel would use the time to train, and later she would go out to get more groceries.  The gang would come over in the afternoon, and Doyle would keep Angel company as she and the rest of the troops helped Giles stock his new store.  Then, when the sun had set, it was time for dinner with Mom and Dad.  If they were lucky, they would spot a vamp or two on their post-dinner patrol.

This was not a slayer's life.  Well, except for the patrol part, and maybe the training.  But it was the silence of it that bothered her.  She loved knowing what Angel was thinking, but she didn't want to do everything with him without even discussing it because they did the same thing every day.  That was just a little too normal and humdrum for her, but it seemed to be the way Angel felt safest right now.

She missed the sound of his voice.  From the night they first met, he had captured her heart with that soft, serious, and yet slightly flirtatious voice.  But the past four days he had spoken very little, and it was starting to worry her.  No, they were beyond the starting gate; she was worrying at full gallop.

A knock on the door interrupted her grim thoughts.  She hurried to answer it _(wouldn't want to disturb the lovely silence, now; would we?_ her inner voice mocked her) and found her friends assembled on the doorstep.

"Hey Buff," Xander said easily.  "We thought we'd get an early start today so we can go out and party tonight."  He started to shimmy into her apartment, showing off his dance steps, but his plans were quickly derailed by Cordelia.

"You are so not going to embarrass me in public by dancing like that," she commanded, catching hold of a swinging arm just before it connected with her shoulder.

"He's not an embarrassment to you," Anya snapped.  "He's my boyfriend now, and I'm the one he embarrasses in public."  She made a great show of pushing Cordelia's hand off of _her_ boyfriend.

Cordelia shrugged.  "You said it; I didn't."

"Ladies, please," Doyle pleaded as he followed Cordelia into the apartment.  "We want a nice friendly outing.  A bit of fun to celebrate your Mr. Giles finally getting his store stocked, and us not having to help anymore."  He glanced over at Buffy and quickly added, "And of course, Buffy's dad being almost a hundred percent again is another reason to break out the bubbly."

Buffy considered the offer.  An evening out, a break in the routine, might be just what Angel needed to shake him free of his dark thoughts.  Or at least free enough to share them with her; she would settle for that.

"Well, I'm not sure Angel will go for it," she said doubtfully, "but I'll give it the old Slayer try."

"Withhold sex from him if he does not comply with your wishes," Anya advised her seriously.  "It always works on Xander."

A dull wash of red crept up Xander's throat and across his face as all eyes turned to him.

"Buffy, could you pick up the pace with the persuading?" he whined.  "Some of us need to find a nice noisy place to have a little chat about the rules of Show and Tell."

"I will withhold sex," Anya warned him.

Buffy smiled reluctantly as Xander groaned.  "I'll try to hurry," she promised her long-suffering friend.

* * * * *

She slipped quietly into the kitchen, keeping her eyes carefully fixed on Angel as he mechanically moved from dishwasher to cupboard and back again.  The same number of measured steps from one end of the kitchen to the other; the same single swipe of the dishtowel along the outside of whatever utensil he retrieved.  Over and over, like his body could operate independently of the mind locked inside of it.

He had been doing pretty much everything by rote the past four days.  

The first day after Drusilla's death, he had seemed a little lost, but still better than she expected.  But somehow the more time passed; the further away he seemed to drift into his own thoughts.  Physically he was never very far from her, yet she felt the silence growing between him and the rest of the world.

"Angel," she said after a few minutes observation, "the gang is here.  We thought maybe tonight we could go out and celebrate Giles' new shop, and my dad being out of the hospital.  Now that Oz's 'time of the month' has passed and all."

He stopped his mindless repetitive motion long enough to blink at her.  "Out?  Sure.  Great."

"Like hell," she flared, catching hold of her temper a moment too late.  'Hell' was not a word thrown around loosely in their home.  Buffy took a deep breath and regrouped.  "Angel, you have to talk to me.  I know killing Dru hit you hard, even harder than we thought it would.  But you can't pull away like this.  I won't let you."  A few quick steps had her at his side, his arm held firmly in her grasp to prevent escape.  "You shared a lot with me about her the other day, all about her death and afterwards.  But that doesn't mean we're done dealing with her, or the rest of the past.  You're the one who always tells me we can't outrun it; now it's time to put up or shut up."

He stared down at her, his dark eyes filled with jagged shards of memories.  "I don't regret what I did to Dru," he answered dully.  "It had to be done.  I just..." with a sigh, he pulled his arm free and dropped into one of the kitchen chairs.

"You just what?" she prompted.  Her hand strayed to the back of his neck, pale and strangely defenseless as it rose from the collar of his sweater.  Her strong fingers massaged his cool skin, bringing him warmth any way she could.

Angel bent his head, allowing her more access to his neck.  It felt so good, so right, to accept her comfort, but the rightness of it made it all the more a guilty pleasure.  Who was he to deserve such blessings, when he had meted out so few himself?

"I just wish I had done it sooner," he admitted, studying his folded hands as they rested in his lap.  "I should have killed her as soon as I regained my soul.  Dru, Spike, Penn...all of them down the line.  I could have saved so many lives if I'd had the guts to face up to my sins."

Her fingers abruptly stilled on his neck, and then both hands reached down to cup his face and gently turn it towards her.

"Hey, who died and made you me?"

He stared at her, his brow creased with confusion.  "I don't..."

"Last I knew, there was only one vampire slayer in this family," she continued firmly.  "Did I miss a meeting?"

"They were my responsibility," he insisted.  "I made vampires, who killed God knows how many people and who also created vampires, and then those vampires went on to kill more people and create more vampires and..."  He drew in a ragged breath.  "I should have ended the cycle a long time ago.  But they were my...well, sick as it sounds, they were my legacy.  Proof that I existed.  I couldn't make myself give that up."

"Honey, you were barely keeping body and soul together for most of the last hundred years, no pun intended."  Her hands fell away from his face to caress his shoulders as she turned and slid onto his lap.  "If you want to start rounding them up now, then great; we'll start tomorrow night.  But I'm not going to let you beat yourself up because the first thought your newly restored soul came up with wasn't 'kill vampires.'  I don't think that's why you're here."

"Then what do we do day after day?" he asked wearily.  

"We kill vampires," she allowed him, "but we also go after a whole smorgasbord of other creepy crawlies without fangs.  I may be a vampire slayer, but the past few years have taught me there are actually worse things in the world than O-pos junkies."

"My father always lectured me on taking responsibility for my failures.  I disappointed him so many times in life because I refused to do that, but I can't run away anymore.  It's time I faced up to what I did.  Me, not just the demon."

"Angel, from what I heard in that dream, your dad came down on you for pretty much everything," she said gently.  

"That wasn't him, it was just my memory of him," he reminded her.

"And you are the most generous, forgiving person I know," she countered.  "So if that's the way you remember him, I don't even want to think about how bad he really was."  The corners of her mouth turned down as she remembered more of their shared dream.  "For that matter, I think it's time you traded in those rose-colored Ray Bans and took a good hard awake look at my mom.  The way she talked to you in that dream..."

"She loves you, and she worries about your future," he interjected.  A worried frown creased his own forehead at the thought of causing more dissension between Buffy and Joyce.  "She's supposed to do that. I guess my father must have felt the same about me.  I certainly gave him enough reasons to worry."

"You said yourself that you wanted him to notice you.  I'm guessing he was pretty good at looking past you.  Which is not to say he deserved what the demon did to him," she hastened to add, seeing the objection in his eyes before it reached his lips.  "I'm just saying you might want to take some of his lectures with a grain of salt.  Or maybe the whole saltshaker.  Plus a margarita."

"He was...a product of his time.  And maybe I was too, in my way."  

Trapped in a time and way of life that kept children under their parents' roofs until they married, and bid sons to follow in their father's footsteps regardless of their own natural talents or inclinations.  Maybe there had been another way to escape the boundaries of his life, but at the time drink, and Darla, had seemed like the best bets.

"But you're not stuck in that time, Angel," Buffy reminded him, bringing back from his fruitless musings.  "You've brought little bits of it with you, but you changed your opinions, changed the way you look at people and the way you treat them.  You've learned."  She stroked his cheek gently.  "Do you think he ever would have?"

Part of him wanted to defend his father, to make up for all the suffering he had caused him.  But Buffy expected, and deserved, honesty.

"I don't know," he admitted.  

She thought carefully before she offered her next bit of advice.  Angel had lived with his guilt a long time; it had helped to shape him into the man he now was, and in his own way he cherished it for that very reason.  But she meant what she said in his dream; he couldn't let it hold him back anymore.

"Angel, I never knew your dad.  Obviously."  She grinned self-consciously.  "Maybe he was a good guy who just didn't know how to be a good father; I don't know.  But I do know that you can't put him on some sort of pedestal because you feel guilty for his death.  Just because all saints are dead doesn't mean everybody who's dead gets a little gold ring to hang their hat on."

"He wasn't a saint; I never said that," he protested.  He looked away for a moment, thinking how strange it was to have someone else know the inner workings of his mind so well. "But I'll never really know if I could do better either.  I mean, look at..."

She swiftly laid her hand over his lips.  "Don't even say it," she warned.  "She wasn't a child; she was a demon, sired by another demon for the sole purpose of causing pain.  And I think she did her job really well where you're concerned, so she's not getting any sympathy cards on Father's Day from me."  She paused for a moment.  "Or she wouldn't if she was still here, which she's not, so she really, really won't.  We just need to put her to rest."

"I'm trying, love.  In my own way."

"By brooding night and day?" she asked skeptically.

"Yes, actually."  He smiled gently at her.  "I've got a lot of memories to make sense of.  Most of them aren't pretty."

"Is it getting any better?" she asked wistfully.

"A little."  He shook his head ruefully.  "Maybe you're right; I need to take my ego out of the equation.  For all the thinking I did before I met you, most of it wasn't too clear.  I never really thought about why I wanted them to survive until a few days ago."

"So maybe not going on a killing spree wasn't exactly the non-crime of the century?"  She tilted her head to the side and frowned again, seeming more puzzled than distressed.  "Did I double that negative or triple it?  I lost count."

He allowed a small grin at her blatant attempt to lighten his mood.  "I love you, Buffy Summers, even if you quadruple your negatives." 

"Never doubted it for a minute."

He kissed her softly, and thanked the Powers, any Power, that had brought her to him when he needed her the most.  

"I know you're worried about me, and I'm sorry.  Now I know how Doyle's been feeling the past few months, with all of us trying to make him open up when what he really needs is to step back and just be for a while."

She slipped her arms around his neck and pressed against him, digging her chin into his shoulder.  His arms circled her slender body, holding on to her tightly from need, not force of habit; she could feel the difference.  He was still in pain but he was here, in spirit as well as body.

"You could never just be; you think too much.  But when you're ready to think out loud, you know I'm here," she whispered.  "Always."

He kissed her neck lightly, touching the scar with his lips for the first time since that fateful night it was created.  

"I've already told you most of it," he answered.  "Now it's just a matter of living with it."

"You know, the hardest part when you came back from hell wasn't not being able to touch you."  She allowed a small smile as she pulled back to look him in the eye.  "I mean that was hard, but the worst part was not being able to make you feel better about yourself, and about us.  I tried, but I was always afraid if I did too much or said too much that he..."  She stumbled to a halt, but Angel smoothly picked up on her train of thought.

"That I would lose my soul, and become Angelus again."  

It wasn't a question.

Buffy nodded somberly.  "This little voice in the back of my head said if I made you feel too loved or secure, if you ever felt too...happy...about us, that it would start all over again."  She leaned in again and rested her cheek on his shoulder.  Her lips moved gently against his throat as she continued to speak.  "All I wanted to do was make sure you knew exactly how much I loved you, but that was the one thing I couldn't do...then."

* * * * *

Xander Harris was bored.  

Not screaming out loud, 'when-will-this-geometry-class-ever-end' kind of bored, but still sufficiently not diverted to be patient while Buffy retrieved her anti-social boyfriend from the kitchen.

"I say we go, and if they want to catch up after the sun sets, then great," he said for the third time.  A few quick steps took him to the apartment door.  "Who's with me?"

"Xander, sit," Willow said sharply.  "Buffy and Angel will be out in a minute, and then we're all going to try really hard to have happy faces and cheer him up."

"Then we can go out and down a few pints," Doyle added.  "Paint the town red."

"Not a happy color for a town full of vamps," Xander warned.

  Buffy and Angel walked into the living room before Xander could take Doyle up on his suggestion.  The vampire seemed embarrassed by all the eyes that immediately focused on him, and turned to Buffy in confusion.

"Do I have something in my teeth?" he asked, leaning over to whisper in her ear.

"Hey, hey, no kissy-face in front of the kids," Xander said quickly, though a little more sharply than he intended.  "We're getting bored here, guys.  We've had an extra week with the Buffster, and we've spent it cleaning up her mom's house and watching Little Boy Brood do his thing.  Time for a new tune."

Buffy glared at Xander as she gripped Angel's hand tightly.  "I'm sorry we haven't been amusing you, Xander," she snapped.  "Next time we'll try to have the family crisis in LA so you and your shadow puppet friends won't get bored."

"Buffy, it's all right," Angel said soothingly, running his free hand up and down her arm.  "He's right; I've been back to my old self the past few days, and in my case that's not always a good thing."  He faced Xander without anger, remembering the compassion on the boy's face when he offered Angel a helping hand in his lowest moment.  "I know you wanted to spend some more time with Buffy before she left; I'm sorry things got in the way."

Xander was suddenly ashamed of his outburst, especially since it had been brought on by simple boredom rather than any deep-seated feelings.  At least he was pretty sure it was just boredom.  Rather than delve too deeply into the recesses of his own mind and risk turning into another Angel, he chose to deal with the vampire's problems instead.

"So, what inspired the sudden visit from the Ghost of Angel Past?  I mean I know you were wigged by dusting the fair, yet oh-so-freaky, Drusilla, but it can't all be about that."

Angel sat down in the wingback chair Buffy had reserved for him by virtue of threats.  She settled herself on his lap and took the hand that wasn't draped around her waist into her own warm hands.  

"Angel isn't ready to talk a lot about this yet," she said, squeezing his hand to show she understood.  

"Oh, come on, you can give us more than that," Xander whined.  "We might even be able to help."  

At least it would be something to do, he reflected.  Not a fun thing, but something.

"It's not so much about Dru," Angel began with difficulty, forestalling Buffy's further attempts to shield him.  "It's more about me, and why I made her, and why I couldn't destroy her, or any of the others I'm responsible for."  He smiled grimly, certain they wouldn't understand.  "Good or bad, they were my immortality."

"Sort of like children," Willow said slowly.

"The only kind I'll ever have." 

He glanced across at Buffy's face, reaching out to her for the courage to go on.  Her hesitant smile grew brighter when she sensed why he was looking at her, and she nodded reassuringly at him.  She knew Angel needed to talk about this; whatever the reason he had for choosing to do it to the group rather than just her, she would respect his decision.

"I thought I could do it better than my father," he continued softly, "and they were my big chance to prove it.  Now I have to face not only what a mess I made with them, but also with my own father."  

"Before the whole, you know, biting thing," Buffy added quickly.

"I was a disappointment to him, and he made sure I knew it every day of my life.  And the more he showed it, the further out of my way I went to justify his opinion.  Even killing him didn't end it, because then I started fighting myself."

Angel closed his eyes and sighed with something akin to relief.  It was done.  The worst part of the confession was over, and now he and Buffy wouldn't have to face any more questions about this.  They would leave him alone to deal in his own time, and eventually he would.  They would, he and Buffy both.  Alone.

"Father issues?" Xander snorted.  "That's what this was all about?  Oh please."

Angel's eyes flew open, staring in confusion at the human who mocked his eternal struggle.

"I'm serious, Xander."

Xander stalked over to Angel and bravely waved an admonishing finger in the older man's face.  "You think you're the only one who's ever had to deal with them?  What, just because you were around before they invented ice cubes, you've cornered the market on dysfunctional families?"  He stepped back a pace and gestured around the room.  "Welcome to Dysfunction Junction, pal."

"Hey!" Cordelia yelped from the sofa.  "The Chases are not dysfunctional; we can't afford to be anymore."  She glanced at Doyle in embarrassment as she mumbled,  "Shrinks cost too much."

"It's all right, Cordy," he said softly, patting her hand.  "I never fancied myself a gigolo."

"As if."  She tossed her head at the very idea.

"As I was saying," Xander said a trifle impatiently, "we're all winners in the dud-dad sweepstakes, not just you.  Look at Cordelia; her father was a crook.  He gave her the boot as soon as he found out crime didn't pay quite well enough to keep the IRS off his back."

"My dad wasn't a crook," Cordelia said defensively. "He just forgot to pay his taxes.  For, umm, a few years."

"Boy, Cor, it's a good thing he didn't lose his money until after your math grade was paid for.  We're talking twelve years here."  Xander held up his wide-open hands.  "Add two little piggies to these and you've got all those pesky 1040s accounted for."

"Xander," Willow said, "you're being a little harsh." 

He strolled over to face his oldest friend, his mind feverishly shifting through the remembrances of many years past to support his claims.  In high school it had been easier to hide the bad stuff than face it, but they were adults now, or near enough.  Time to let it all hang out and see who was still around when it was over.

"Am I, Will?  I'm not saying they're the only ones.  My dad is an alcoholic, and that goes double for Mom.  Sometimes triples, if it's been a bad day."  His memory inconveniently chose that moment to serve up a score of memories of those bad days, but he forced himself to continue.  "She's just a weeper, but he prefers the more pro-active side of the stereotype." Xander laughed sharply. "You know, the first four-letter word I learned was 'duck.' In fact, I'm sure in that fun little alternate reality Anya made for Cordelia..."

"Where I died!" Cordelia snapped, turning her ire on the ex-vengeance demon this time rather than Xander.  "Where we all died, except Giles."

"You asked for a Buffy-less Sunnydale, and you got it.  The power of the wish does not include a money-back guarantee." Anya casually shrugged her shoulders. "And it's not like you gave me money anyway."

"In that world," Xander continued in a louder voice, "I'm sure my father was the first one I used as a sippy cup after I was turned. And I bet I loved him to the last drop."

There was a brief moment of silence in the room as everyone absorbed Xander's announcement.  

"You don't know that," Angel said finally.  "You can't."

Xander tapped his head.  "In here, in my memories, no.  But in here," he tapped his chest, "we're talking a bet even Doyle wouldn't lose."

Angel looked at him carefully, seeing for the first time the pain Xander usually hid behind a mask of jokes and smiles.  

"I'm sorry," the vampire said gently.  "I didn't know."

Xander took a deep breath; he had just felt something very strange pass between he and Angel, and it would take some getting used to. There was a peculiar connection between them now, built not only of a common love for the girl who brought them into each other's orbit, but also of shared survival of a dark past.  Suddenly he had something in common with Angel beyond mutual irritation.  

It was definitely freaksome.

"Okay, so where was I?" Xander said, pushing the unexpected moment of male bonding aside for later mulling.  

Much, much later mulling. 

"Oh yeah, Willow," he said with relief.  "Her dad doesn't qualify for any 12-step programs, he's honest, and he's still living in the same house with her. Sounds pretty Ozzie Nelson, huh?" Xander watched his oldest friend carefully, hoping she would someday forgive him for his revelation of things shared in confidence. "Of course he's barely said more than 'hi' to her since she told him she wasn't just a lab experiment he and the missus cooked up. In fact, I don't think I've even laid eyes on the guy since freshman year."  He feigned a casual shrug.  "But hey, dads are like that, right?"

Willow blushed as she looked around the room.  "My dad, he...well, he means well, but I'm not exactly the daughter he and my mom planned on when they started charting her ovulation cycles."  She dropped her eyes to stare at Oz's hand, tightly wrapped around her own.  In a stronger voice, she continued, "I think they were thinking a little more Wall Street and a little less wolfsbane."

"Which brings us to Oz." Xander held out his hands, palms turning upwards, to display his next subject.  "Oz's dad kicked him out of the house for being a werewolf.  I ask you," he appealed to his audience, "can you get more prejudiced than that?  And in Sunnydale too; home of the free-range demon and land of the not-so-brave undead."  Xander paused for a beat before nodding at Angel.  "Present company excepted, of course."

"No, he's cool with the werewolf thing," Oz corrected Xander in a mild voice.  "It was when I told him I wanted to be a professional musician that he made me sleep in my van."  He shrugged his shoulders with characteristic aplomb.  "He's an entertainment lawyer."

"Okey-dokey," Xander said hesitantly. "Well, our next contestant is a certain Irish half-demon, and his amazing half-father."  He glanced over at Buffy and Angel, who had been observing the proceedings in silence thus far.  "You can probably tell we've all been doing a lot of quality sharing the past few days.  Doyle's contribution to Story Hour was his deadbeat dad."

"No protests from me on that score," Doyle agreed with a crooked smile.  "The old man was a bum, plain and simple."

"And hey, I know she's not a Scooby, but Angel's good buddy Kate can't stand her Daddy Dearest either," Cordelia offered, throwing someone else's familial dysfunctions to the wolves.  "Might be in the California water or something. Of course we all know that was part of what reminded Angel of...well, never mind."  She shared a secret smile with Buffy as Angel watched in confusion.

"Reminded me of..." he began.

"No, it can't be our water," Willow jumped in.  She knew the joke even if Angel didn't, and she wasn't sure he'd appreciate it right now.  "Buffy, didn't you tell me Giles became a Watcher because his father told him that he had to?" she continued. "It was the family business or something.  This new magick shop is probably the first thing he's gotten to do just because he wants to since college.  I mean, he had to get old before he could be a grown-up; how sad is that?"

"Ooh, and Wesley; do you remember him?" Cordelia looked around the room before she continued, seeing only a few blank looks from the newest members of the gang.  "He never said anything specific, but he made a few comments to me about not liking closets.  He was always talking about his dad at the time, so I think he used to get locked in or something."

Doyle turned slightly in his seat and stared at her.  "And just why did the subject of closets come up between you two?  Who was this Wesley fellow anyway?"

"Big Watcher Geek guy," Anya explained briefly.  "Cordelia thought he was sexy."

Cordelia started to protest, and then thought better of it.  She patted Doyle's knee and offered him her most beguiling smile, complete with fluttering eyelashes.  

"We'll talk later," she promised him.

"That we will, darlin."

Anya turned her attention to her boyfriend.  "Xander, I don't think I have any father issues.  Not that I remember."  She frowned, trying unsuccessfully to dredge up some hint of a memory.  "Of course, he's been dead for eleven hundred years, so I guess if I had any, I won by default."

"That's okay, Anya," Xander reassure her.  "I'm sure you drove him to an early grave."

"Do you really think so?"  She beamed at him, grateful to be included in the group therapy.

Buffy sighed and squeezed Angel's hand.  "Well, my dad and I are doing better now, but I can throw a few issues on the table to cover Anya and I both."

"I'll say, Buff," Xander snorted.  "In the four years since you came to Sunnydale, I've never seen your father before this week.  I have, however, seen you hospitalized twice, dead once, running away from home once, graduating from high school and blowing up a public building.  These are usually billed as classic 'dad' moments."  He dropped on the floor at Anya's feet.  "Well, actually a lot of them are also known as 'cop' moments, but that's beside the point."

"Yeah, well, we're working on the staying in touch thing."

"In any case, I think I've proved my point.  Man, I should have been a lawyer." Xander looked at Angel, hoping somehow he had reached the vampire.  And wondering why it mattered to him that he did.

"So Hamlet, did we poke a hole in the ghost yet?"  Cordelia looked sternly at her best friend and surrogate brother.  "You're not so special just because you had a lousy father.  And don't think killing him gets you any extra sympathy points either, since most of us aren't packing a spare psychotic personality to do our dirty work for us."

Willow smiled brightly.  "Yeah, we lucked out.  Thanks to Buffy.  And you, of course."

Angel felt Buffy's hands wrapped tightly around his; he saw the friendship and concern on each of the faces in the room, and a small tingle began to circulate through his body.  He would never completely reconcile himself to his failures with his family in life, and he would certainly never cast aside his guilt for the way he treated them and so many others after death.  But he had a new chance now, with a family of his own.  No children; that could not be helped.  But he had Buffy, always Buffy, and Cordelia, and Doyle, and now he seemed to have all these other people too.  People he thought were Buffy's friends alone, but who were willing to share their own pain just to make him feel one of them.

He had a family; one even his father would be proud of.

"I didn't do anything," he demurred, "but somehow I lucked out too.  Thanks to Buffy."   The depth of passion in his eyes when he gazed at his lover should, by all rights, have swallowed her whole.

"Okay, I know that look; they're going to go at it again, whether we're here or not. So let's do ourselves a favor and not."  Cordelia leaned over to grab her purse from beside the sofa, inadvertently tilting the sofa cushion upward.  

Doyle saw something small and square beneath the raised cushion and fished it out.  "Hey, what's this?" he asked, tossing the little brown package in the air.

Angel froze.

* * * * *

The small box flew up in the air, carrying all eyes with it.  It was Cordelia's hand that reached it first, however; she snatched it away from Doyle while it was still in mid-air.

"Oh, you've found it!  My little, umm, my...box.  Mine," she emphasized, casting a commanding glance at Angel as she dug her elbow into Doyle's ribs.

"Hey, watch it there, darlin'," he protested.  

"I'm sorry, pumpkin," she cooed, "I guess I'm just a little overexcited because you found my box.  You know; the one we brought from LA with us?"  She transferred her fiery gaze to Doyle, willing him to go along with her clever story.

"Yeah, that sure is one nice piece of cardboard," Xander teased.  "I can see why you were so upset to lose it."

Doyle's startled glance met Cordelia's, and the light bulb almost visibly flipped on behind his eyes.  "Oh, er, yeah, that's right; she was upset all right.  Carried on something fierce about losing it, let me tell you.  On and on she went about her little, umm, thingamajig."

Angel sighed; nothing was going the way he planned.  When he was evil, it used to be so easy to bring his schemes to fruition, but his human soul always managed to get in the way of his sneakier instincts.  Not to mention a guilty conscience that took up all the brain cells he'd used to store the memory of his hiding place.  He'd been searching for that box for days.

"Cordy, Doyle, thanks for the help but it's okay."  He nudged Buffy to stand up so that he could cross over to the couch and take the little package from Cordelia.  "This is actually my box, though what's in it is meant for someone else."

"Angel, what's going on?"  Buffy anxiously scanned his face, alert for signs of distress.  He didn't look angsty, though; he seemed embarrassed more than anything.

Angel gazed down at the box, debating when and where and how to open it.  He'd spent weeks wracking his brain for the right setting, imagining and discarding one scenario after another as insufficiently romantic or memorable.  Not once had he imagined an audience, however; that seemed way down on the romance scale.

"This is not how I pictured this," he grumbled, not even aware he was speaking out loud.

"Pictured what, honey?"

"Yeah, let us in on the joke." Xander settled himself more comfortably against Anya's knee and waited expectantly for the punchline.  "We could all use a laugh right now."

"This isn't a joke," Angel snapped.  

He clenched his fingers tightly around the box, finding comfort in its solidity.  It was real; nothing anyone said could take away its reality, or its meaning.  No one but Buffy, and he was fairly certain what her response would be.

"Angel, man, maybe you should take a walk or something.  You know, just you and Buffy.  Alone."  Now that Doyle understood the problem he had created, he was desperate to fix things.  He had, after all, once been in this same boat himself.  With any luck, he might be again one day.

"Oh, that's a good plan," Cordelia scoffed.  "Ground control to Major Tommy Boy!  Daylight.  Vampire."  She brought her hands together and pushed them upwards and outwards.  "Whoosh."

Buffy was suddenly at Angel's elbow, her troubled hazel eyes fixed on his downturned face.  "What is going on?" she asked quietly.  "Just tell me the truth; that's all I want."

Angel glanced longingly at the door, and all that it protected and barred him from.  

"I wanted to do this right," he said softly, more to himself than to Buffy.  "I wanted it to be special, so that you could have one of those memories you used to talk about.  The perfect moment."  He heaved a sigh as he looked down at her beloved face.  "But I've gone around and around, and I never figured out the right place.  Everywhere that has any meaning to us has good and bad memories attached, and I wanted to put the past behind us.  At least for this moment."

"Angel, you're scaring me," she said flatly.  "Whatever you wanted we can still have.  It's not too late."

"No, it's just in time actually."  He smiled as he resigned himself to an audience, but when he looked deep into her eyes, everyone else disappeared.  

"It has to be now, because this week is almost over."

Now Buffy was truly puzzled.  

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Yeah, what was the deal with the 'now or never' stuff?" Cordelia broke in.

Angel tuned out Cordelia's voice, and everyone else in the room.  He focused solely on Buffy, and trying to make her understand.

"Ever since I've known you, spring has been really tough on us, especially the end of May.  I don't know why, but everything always falls apart right about this time every year, just like clockwork." He shivered slightly at the host of memories assaulting him.  "You may be superstitious about your birthday, but for me it's May.  You die, I go to hell; you run away, I...run away.  Things blow up."  He paused for emphasis.  "It's not a good time of year for us."

"Agreed," she said steadily.  "But we're together now.  I mean, yeah, my dad almost died and you've been all broken up about Dru, and...but...okay, I see what you mean."

"I wanted to change that.  We're going to change that," he amended.  Angel slowly peeled the paper tape off of the package and opened the cardboard box to reveal a smaller velvet jeweler's box inside.  

Buffy was speechless when she saw the box lying in Angel's palm.  Anya, however, was never at a loss for words.  

"What is it?  Let me see," she demanded, craning her neck to see around Angel's broad shoulders.  "Oh," she breathed, "it's a ring, isn't it?"

"Does the word 'private' mean anything to you?"  Cordelia scowled at Xander.  "Harris, can't you muzzle her or something?  I can't hear a thing if she keeps babbling."

"Okay, we need to leave," Willow said firmly.  "Come on guys."  She got up from her chair and reached for Oz's hand as he stood up beside her.

"Hey come on," Cordelia protested, remaining firmly ensconced on the sofa.  "I put a lot of work into this moment.  Do you have any idea how stubborn those two can be?  I want to see the payoff."

"Cordelia."  Doyle didn't say another word, but his eyes spoke volumes.

"Oh, all right," she conceded with a scowl.  "But I better get some flowers out of this, or at least a thank-you card."

She addressed her warning to Buffy and Angel, but they paid her no heed.  They had eyes only for each other, specifically for Angel's outstretched hand, still cradling the box, and Buffy's finger, now lightly touching the lid.

"Is that what I think it is?" she asked softly.

He smiled at her, that old crooked half-smile that melted her bones like taffy.  

"That depends on what you think it is," he murmured.

"Okay Cryptic Guy, you were saying something about changing bad traditions?"  Her fingers caressed the box, sliding over the lid and down the side to stroke his palm.  "I admit; you did really well breaking my birthday cur..."  She stopped short and tried to regroup.  "No, not a curse.  I was not going to say that.  We don't break curses, of any kind. Ever."

"Not anymore," he agreed gravely, with the barest twinkle in his brown eyes.  "We're past that.  And now it's time for something new."  His smile vanished, leaving a grave expression.  "I love you, Buffy; you know that.  And even though I've done my best sometimes to mess things up, you still love me."

"So we fight and try to kill each other; so what?  You're not getting rid of me that easily," she whispered.  "Slayers were built to take it on the chin."

"I know we're never going to have that normal life you used to want.  There's always going to be bad days and apocalypses that try to mess up our plans.  But I refuse to let any of that influence me anymore." 

He opened up the box slowly, exposing the small platinum ring inside.  At its heart was an emerald-cut diamond, flanked by two deep blue sapphires. 

"You are the best part of me; you're my center and I won't lose you again."  He tugged the ring free from its velvet prison and slipped it slowly up her third finger, after transferring her Claddagh ring to her right hand.  "I want to make sure the universe knows that.  Will you marry me?"

She barely glanced at the ring once it was exposed to the light; her focus was on her beloved as he finally asked the question she had been waiting so long to hear.  There were times she began to doubt they would make it this far, and times she almost wished they wouldn't.  She never planned, or expected, to love someone so much, and the depth of her feelings was sometimes frightening.  But he was as necessary to her as breathing, and she was never going to willingly let him go again.

"Angel, I..."

She had barely managed to get his name out before the doorbell rang.

"Oh sure; we have to leave but someone else gets to stay," Cordelia complained.  "Well, we'll just see about that."

Before Doyle could grab her, Cordelia was off of the sofa and opening the door.

"If you don't mind we're having a private..."  Suddenly Cordelia realized precisely who was on the other side of the threshold, and abruptly slammed the door.  She leaned up against it and attempted a nervous laugh.  "Ha, ha.  My mistake.  Wrong number.  I mean, wrong door."

Willow groaned; she knew a stall tactic when she saw one.  "Okay Cordy, enough is enough," she said firmly as she started pulling on Cordelia's arm.  "Let whoever it is in so Buffy and Angel can get back to...what they need to get back to, and what we need to not be watching them get back to."

"Willow," Cordelia protested, plastering herself against the door.  "You don't know what you're saying...and stop pulling my arm.  I bruise easily you know...hey!"

The witch had at last succeeded in ousting the former cheerleader from her position as door guard.  With a dramatic flourish, Willow swung open the door...and slammed it shut again a moment later.

"Cordy's right," she said breathlessly, taking up guard duty next to her old nemesis.  "Wrong number."  

Buffy stared at the two of them, wondering when exactly she had slipped down the rabbit hole.

"Guys, this is really amusing and all, but...well, no, it's actually more annoying than amusing, so we need to say bye-bye now."  

Buffy reluctantly let go of Angel's hand and joined her friends at the door.  One stern glance, promising impending pain for those who would disobey, was enough to clear her path.  She opened the door, prepared to give short shrift to any door-to-door salesman who might be intruding upon her 'perfect moment.' 

Instead she faced a much more immovable object.

"Buffy," Joyce said with a warm smile.  "Your father and Rupert and I have something to say to you."

"Mom, now is really not the time."  Buffy glanced back at Angel waiting patiently in the living room for her, and then down at the ring on her finger.  "Come to think of it, maybe now is good."  She stepped back and waved them inside.  "You missed Angel's proposal, but you're just in time for my answer."  She waited grimly for her mother's response, and she was not disappointed.

"Oh good; then we're not too late."  Joyce smiled happily at Giles and Hank while her daughter glowered.

* * * * *

To Be Continued 


	13. Chapter 13

Anam Cara 

**Part 13**

By Gem 

"Oh good, then we're not too late."

Joyce's words hung in the still air.  Uneasy, and in some cases rather angry glances passed among the Scoobies as Buffy stared at the woman who had raised her for the past 19 years, and yet didn't seem to know her at all.

"Excuse me," the Slayer said sharply. "Just how do you define 'too late'?  Because if you mean too late to see me do the smartest thing I've ever done, that would be a 'no'."  She took a few measured steps towards her mother, as the temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.  "But if you mean you're not too late to keep me from spending the rest of my life with the guy that I love, that would be a very, very big misuse of the phrase."

"Buffy, don't," Angel said quietly.  "Whatever she says, it's not worth fighting a war over."  

He gazed at Joyce with a calm he could not have imagined even one short year ago.  Once upon a time he had looked to her to be as much his family as Buffy's, hoping she would fill a void in his life that the death of his own family had created.  He didn't need that from her anymore, though.  He had a family again, and one she could not touch or tarnish.

"I'm not fighting," Buffy protested, hands raised in a show of innocence.  "I'm making sure we all know where we stand.  And where I stand," she continued, returning to his side, "is with you."

"Maybe I phrased this the wrong way," Joyce said patiently.  She walked slowly into the apartment, Giles and Hank following close behind, until they reached the center of the living room.  "I was trying to say I was glad we got here before you accepted Angel's proposal because..." she paused.  "You are going to accept, I assume."

"Well that's a stupid question," Anya said, casting a pitying glance at Joyce.  

"Anya," Xander pleaded, "later, honey; okay?"

"But..."

"Later," he said firmly.  After a moment of steadfast resolution, he melted under her imperious gaze.  "Please," he added with the tiniest of whines.

"I'm not the one embarrassing myself asking stupid questions, but fine.  I'll be quiet."  With a loud sigh to show how hard this being quiet business really was on a girl, Anya subsided.

"Yes Mom, I was in the middle of accepting," Buffy said.  She squeezed Angel's hand as she glanced up at him.  "Though I kind of wish Angel had been the first to hear it."

"Doesn't matter," he murmured.  "I'm thinking a little rooftop shouting is in order myself."  He quirked a self-deprecating grin.  "After dark, of course."

"Now that's what I wanted to talk about," Joyce jumped in.  "I mean, that's what we," she gestured to Hank and Giles, "wanted to talk to you about."

"Oh no, Joyce, this was your big idea," Hank protested.  "I went along with it, sure.  But you're the one who thought of it, and Buffy should know that."

"Yes, quite," Giles added.  "I too can claim no credit for this plan, at least not for its inception.  I only aided in the execution."

Buffy glanced from father to surrogate father, trying to decide whose betrayal hurt her more.  Hank's recent ordeal with Drusilla could explain his turncoat colors, and she knew Giles had never forgotten Jenny Calender or who brought about her death.  Still, she had believed the two men were willing to forgive, if not forget, in the name of future harmony.

"Looks like your fellow rats jumped ship, Mom.  Time to start doggie-paddling solo."  She didn't bother to hide the bitterness from her voice; this was a blow she had not been expecting.

"Buffy," her mother reproached her. "You shouldn't speak that way about your father and Rupert.  No matter what they say, they both did a great deal to help me with this."

"That's not the best way to convince me they're still using the Force for good and not evil."

"Joyce, why don't you just show her, and then tell her," Hank suggested.  "She's getting the wrong idea."  He sidled over to the sofa, where Cordelia had reclaimed her seat.  A raised eyebrow indicated she should consider yielding her place to an older, and injured, man, but the gesture could not make a dent in her armor.  He resigned himself to perching uncomfortably on the back corner.

"I found something the other day, out on the front lawn," Joyce began.  She reached into her pocket, but did not withdraw her hand.  "I wasn't sure what to do with it at first, so I didn't say anything to anyone.  Later I talked to your dad."  She shot a quick glance back at Hank and smiled ruefully.  "I didn't exactly like what he had to say, mostly because I knew he was right."

"She's always hated that about me," Hank confided loudly.

"After we agreed on what to do, I called Rupert and he helped us put it together.  I guess I should say he found us someone to put it together."

"It was nothing, really," Giles demurred.  "I've kept in touch with some of Jenny's friends; they have proven a valuable resource for spells and such.  One of them is a professor of anthropology at UCLA who makes jewelry on the side.  Nothing too expensive, you understand, and she doesn't have a shop yet, only a stall at festivals and such."  He tapped his chin and continued to muse out loud, oblivious to any and all signs of impatience in his audience.  "Actually, I've been thinking of displaying some of her work at the store.  She's really quite good and..."

"...and yet so very not the point right now," Cordelia finished for him.  "What has she done for us lately?"  The actress in her winced at the all-too familiar phrase.  

"She made this.  I hope it fits, but if not...well, we'll get it sized."  Joyce slowly pulled her hand out of her pocket, clutching a gold ring between her thumb and forefinger.  "I wanted...that is we wanted to give this to you Angel, before you and Buffy made any formal plans.  So that you would know we weren't offering it just for her sake."

Buffy and Angel leaned closer to inspect the ring. The gold was smooth and unblemished, as though freshly minted, yet it gave off an inexplicable aura of great age. Around the crest of the ring, tiny leaves were carefully etched and darkened, forming an oval frame for the stone at its heart, a pale green stone that caught the light and refracted it back onto Joyce's hand.

"It looks like...well, sort of like..."  Buffy glanced up at Angel and then over at her mother.  "Don't you think it looks like..."

"The Gem of Amara," Angel agreed.  He looked steadily at Joyce, showing none of the thousand emotions raging through him.  "You found this after Dru died?"

She nodded, holding the ring slightly away from her body.  "It was on the lawn, along with the gold necklace it fell out of.  I took the stone first, and then after I talked to Hank I went back for the gold.  We thought it might be better to use that metal to make the ring, just in case the magick wasn't only in the stone."

"Mr. Giles found us the jeweler, and helped her design the ring," Hank added.  "She took the rest of the gold as payment, which worked out well for all of us."  He glanced around the room.  "What would I do with enchanted gold, I ask you?"

"Why?" Angel asked quietly, his eyes boring deep into her soul.

Joyce drew a deep breath; this was where it was going to get messy.  

"I don't want you to get the wrong idea.  I still think Buffy is too young to commit herself to anyone, and I still wish she would give up her Slaying, or at least cut back.  And I know she won't while you two are together."  She saw Buffy's mouth open and hurried to finish her thought.  "But Rupert has convinced me that Buffy would be the Slayer with or without Angel, and she's probably safer with him, even if she is more active about it.  And Hank has made me take another look at my little girl, who isn't quite so little as I thought."

"She's not tall," Anya said flatly.  "That's why she wears high heeled shoes so much; to give the illusion of greater height."  She studiously ignored Xander's 'shush' gesture.  "In the old days we had to stand on carriage boxes, but that looks silly unless you're wearing a long skirt...and you have a carriage."

"I've, uh, been so focused on your growing up, I guess I never noticed I had some of my own to do," Joyce admitted, not even hearing Anya's running commentary.  "Somehow I thought I was supposed to be past that stage, but apparently not."

"It's a never-ending battle," Angel said softly.  "And it's the hardest thing in the world to keep on doing.  You change your opinions, your beliefs, your priorities; lose old friends, and old ideals along the way, and it's still not enough.  In the end you have to be willing to give up all that you are, so that you can start becoming a fraction of what you're meant to be."

She pursed her lips and stared at the vampire silently for a moment.  "So what you're telling me is that this is not going to end anytime soon."

A disarming smile flickered across his pale face, giving Joyce a glimpse of the beauty her daughter found in this man's soul.  

"Sorry.  Two and a half centuries and I'm still waiting for the butterfly moment."

Joyce sighed, sounding uncannily like her daughter to Angel's slightly biased ears.

"Not what I wanted to hear," she said.

 "Mom, you're really okay with Angel and I being together?"  Buffy didn't like to disturb this unexpected rapprochement between her mother and her lover, but there were details as yet to be nailed down.  "I mean...that's what the whole ring deal is about, right?"

"Yes, that is what it's about." Joyce returned her focus to her daughter.  "I've always wanted the best for you, honey.  I wanted you to be happy and fulfilled, and I still do.  I just pictured it coming to you from your family and your career instead of…"

"My family and my career."  Buffy squeezed Angel's hand again and smiled to soften her next words.  "It's still the same picture, Mom; it's just me in it this time instead of a you-clone."  

"At any rate, I can't change much about the situation.  This is what you want, and I have to respect that.  But at least I can make it a little easier."  Joyce nodded at the ring.  "This won't solve the many differences between you, and maybe you don't want them solved; I've given up trying to figure out your relationship.  But now I know that if you're out all night prowling around cemeteries, it's not because you can't do anything but sleep all day."

"Like that's all they do all day," Anya sniffed.

"This was very generous of you."  Angel looked at her gravely.  "It was generous of all of you," he included Hank and Giles with a nod, "but especially you, Joyce.  Thank you."

"Yes, thank you so much," Buffy echoed fervently.  "And about that, umm, rat comment?"  She winced.  "Really, really didn't mean that.  It was just...habit."

"That's okay, honey," her father comforted her.  "I've been called a lot worse things than a rat.  Some of them I suspect your mother made up just for me."

"Hank, shush.  And Angel, please take it."  Joyce held her hand out a little stiffly, but willingly.  "You can open a window and try it on your hand first, just to make sure the spell stuck."

"The spell is perfectly fine," Giles sniffed.  "I read it over myself before Emma did the incantation, and it was exceedingly well-composed.  And even grammatically correct, which is something you rarely find in spells these days."

"Ooh, Giles' got a girlfriend," Xander chanted.  "Giles' got a...ow!"  He turned to glare at Anya.  "What was that for?"

She returned his gaze evenly.  "That was not a well-composed incantation.  It would seem to encourage romance, and yet it only creates hostility.  And it is not grammatically correct."

"Thank you, Anya," Giles said, a strange feeling of gratitude washing over him.

"And why do you get to talk if I don't?" Anya continued.

"Hey, not to be the wet blanket of reason here," Cordelia broke in, "but aren't you just setting Angel up as Public Vampire Number One with this thing?"  She leaned forward in her seat and gestured to the ring.  "I mean Spike was certainly the eager beaver when it came to the last Gem of Amara.  What's to keep every vamp in town from going on an Angel-hunt once the word gets out at Willie's?"

Buffy cast a frantic glance at Angel, nightmarish visions filtering through her mind with lightning speed.  Before she could voice her fears, however, she noticed her beloved's calm smile.

"There's not really a big market for jewelry that just creates a tan line," he said.  "Spike wanted the other Amara stone for the chance to be invincible.  Even if anyone finds out I have this one, they won't be interested once they see I can still bleed."

"Not liking the show-and-tell aspect," Buffy grumbled, "but I guess you're right."

Angel gently squeezed Buffy's hand, and then released her as he accepted the ring from Joyce's trembling fingers.  After all the nights he had agonized over the destruction of the Gem of Amara, it had at last found its way back to him.  Not the whole stone, with its promise of invulnerability and vast power; he would have no use for such a stone.  This was the only part of the gem he had ever regretted losing, and he regretted it for the sake of the woman standing beside him.  Now, at last, he could offer her back a small portion of the life she was abandoning to be with him.

Suddenly warm fingers closed over his hand, preventing him from sliding the ring over his knuckle.

"Angel," Buffy said softly, "wait."

* * * * *

Angel gazed down at the small tanned fingers covering his pale hand.  "Buffy, what's wrong?" he asked, sliding his eyes upwards to look into her face.

"I just want to make sure we're clear on why you want this ring before we take the top off the convertible for good."

"Well that's pretty much of a 'duh,' Buff," Xander drawled.  "The man can lie on the sand scoping out babes in bikinis for years at a time and never get skin cancer.  It's like living in a Beach Boys song."

"And if that's the reason, I'm fine with it," Buffy replied evenly, never tearing her eyes away form her beloved's.  "Except for the babes in bikinis part, of course. But what I don't want is him taking it just for me, to give me something everyone else tells him I need."

"Princess, we wanted to give you a chance at an easier life," Hank explained.  "Both of you."

Buffy finally looked away from Angel's puzzled face to her father's.  "Do you mean easier or 'normal', Dad?  Because I finally realized I've already had all the 'normal life' I can handle."  She began to tick off items on her fingers.  "Divorced parents; definitely of the norm these days.  I was a cheerleader, the classic high school experience for a girl, right?  Except of course for that bloodstone vengeance spell that almost killed me."

"Vengeance spell?" her mother repeated, her voice becoming shriller with each syllable. She cast an angry glance at the only vengeance specialist she'd ever met.

Anya's jaw dropped when she realized Joyce's unspoken accusation, but her protest of innocence was hampered at the last minute by Xander's hand tightly squeezing her own.  She read the plea to let him handle this in his eyes and closed her mouth with an audible snap, settling for an outraged sniff in her own defense.

"That was Amy's mom," Cordelia explained, beating Xander to Anya's rescue.  She felt an unexpected jolt of sympathy for the newest addition to Joyce's hit list, but being Cordelia, she tried not to let it get the best of her.  "You remember Amy, don't you, Mrs. Summers?  She turned herself into a rat when you tried to burn her at the stake."

"Stake?"  Now it was Hank's turn to stare, but Joyce could only shrug helplessly.

"Rat?" she asked hesitantly.

"Umm, I got a tattoo too," Buffy hurried on, trying to regain control of the conversation.  "Actually Eth...someone...gave it to me.  And didn't that make a dandy bulls-eye for a demon with a body art fixation?"  A slight blush washed her cheeks with color.  "And of course there's always my classic high school girl getting drunk at a frat party experience.  Can't get more normal than that...well, except for the giant demon snake."

"Is it me, or was there something really Freudian about that last one?" Oz murmured in Willow's ear.  She nodded, and motioned him to be quiet.

"And when did you get a tattoo?" Joyce demanded, recalled to her motherly duties.  "Where did you get a tattoo?"

Buffy turned back to Angel.  "I know I spent a lot of time telling everybody how much I wanted to be a 'normal girl,' and I'm sorry if I ever made you feel that you didn't fit into that life.  The truth was that I didn't, and I don't want to.  I want you; that's all.  Just the way you are."

Angel slipped his hand free of hers and held the ring up before her.  "This won't change me, Buffy.  It will only give us more time to do things."

"And is that why you want it?" she asked, staring intently into his eyes.  "Angel, no matter what sweet, romantic things you say, I know you didn't give up the first one just because I wasn't there to share it with you. If that was the only reason, you could have taken the ring and been on the highway heading back to Sunnydale five minutes later."  She reached up and caressed his cheek.  "You destroyed it because you didn't feel like you earned it yet."

He couldn't lie to her.  "There were a lot of reasons, but yes, that was one of them."

"And now?" she pressed.  "Do you believe you've earned it yet?"

"I...I don't know," he admitted.  "Maybe.  Sometimes."  A deep breath washed through his lungs before he continued, "And sometimes not."

Buffy's hand slipped down his throat and around the back of his neck as she stood on tiptoe and kissed him.  He pulled her in close, forgetting both past and present in her arms.

"I do believe you've earned it," she said, nuzzling his neck after the kiss had ended.  A moment later she reluctantly pushed herself away and sank back down to her normal height.  "But what I believe isn't what matters.  And what you think I need from you isn't what matters either.  So I can't call you Angel of the morning; big deal."  Buffy shrugged her shoulders.  "I will live with you in the sunlight, or the darkness, or even under a bridge with the trolls if that's where we end up; I don't care."

"We'd have to kill the trolls," he reminded her, a slight teasing note returning to his voice.  "They make lousy neighbors."

"And worse boyfriends," Anya sighed.  She felt Xander stiffen in surprise, and raised her eyebrow at him.  "Did you think you were the first boyfriend I've had in eleven hundred years?  Even demons get lonely on a cold winter's night...especially before central heating was invented."

Buffy brought her other hand up to Angel's cheek, holding his face fast between her palms as she looked deep into his eyes.  As far as she was concerned, there was no one else in the room.

"If taking this ring will make you happy, then take it.  I just don't want you to take it for my sake, because I don't need what it can do for us.  I need us, period."

Angel thought about it for a minute.  It was true that he wanted the ring for Buffy's sake, but he also felt a strange longing for it on his own behalf.  He wasn't sure if he felt worthy of the forgiveness of the Powers that the other ring seemed to represent, but this one held a much smaller and more meaningful quality of mercy.  It was a gift from Buffy's parents, all three of them.  Whatever he had done to them, to Buffy, or to the universe at large, they were willing to grant him this much grace.

"I think...I want it for me, too," he said haltingly.  

Buffy released a breath she hadn't even realized she was holding, and let her fingers trail down his chest until she could grasp his hands.  

"Good," she said.  "Then let me be the one to put it on you."  She gazed up at him through artfully lowered lashes.  "You know, as a practice run for later."

She slipped the ring onto his second finger, and then she continued to hold him by that hand as she led him into the training room.  After a quick and silent exchange of glances, the rest of their family and friends crowded in the doorway behind them.

Buffy and Angel marched steadily across the training room to the far wall, where blackout cloths covered the only windows in the apartment.  With her free hand Buffy reached up and gently peeled away a section of the cloth.

"Ready?" she asked him, trying to suppress the quaver in her voice. 

Angel nodded, not daring to speak.  What if the destruction of the necklace also damaged the spell that gave the stone its power?  What if the reworking of the gold created an entirely new power in the ring, one that would not protect him from the sun's deadly rays?

Buffy drew a deep breath and opened the window wide, clutching his hand tightly as she moved it towards the light.

"Here goes," she whispered.

Angel felt the sun's heat on his skin, and instinctively he tried to pull his hand free of Buffy's grasp.  She held fast, however, and he forced himself to relax.  She would never do anything to hurt him; he knew this.  And it seemed that the sunlight now numbered among the things that would not hurt him.  He flexed his fingers in the warmth, and watched in amazement as his pale skin slid across the bone and did not dissolve.  There was no burning sensation, no extraordinary heat or pain.  It was just...warm.

Angel laughed abruptly, switching his gaze from his amazing, non-combustible hand to his still more amazing mate.

"It works," he breathed, thrusting his other hand into the light as further proof.  "It really works."

Before Buffy could reply, he threw his arms around her and picked her up, swinging her around and around as he continued to laugh.  She started laughing too, as she clung to his neck with one arm and grabbed futilely for the blackout curtains with the other hand.

The Scoobies quickly saw what she was trying to do and hurried over to help, ripping the curtains from the walls and throwing them into a corner.  Soon the whole room was awash in the clear light of a spring afternoon.

Hank rested his hand on Joyce's shoulder as they watched their only daughter laughing in the arms of their future son-in-law.

"You did a good thing, Joyce," he said softly, nodding at Buffy's bright face.  

Buffy's mother was quiet for a moment as she watched the present joyousness and contemplated the uncertain future.  "I hope so," she said at length.  "I'm still not sure they can make it work...but I guess they deserve the same chance to try that everyone else gets."

"You never know; they may just surprise you."  Hank nodded at Giles, inviting the Englishman's support.  "Isn't that right, Mr. Giles?"

Giles smiled enigmatically. "After four years of observing wanton demonic destructiveness on an apocalyptic scale, I have come to realize that the day nothing surprises us is the day to be truly surprised."  

"Uh...huh."  Hank turned back to Joyce.  "Am I supposed to understand what that means?" he whispered.

Buffy was showing off her engagement ring to Willow, Cordelia and Anya, as their assorted boyfriends made a joke of pretending to do the same with Angel's ring.  The ensuing protest on the ladies' part instigated a large-scale towel-snapping fight with the blackout curtains used as weapons.  The laughing insults and shouts of triumph almost drowned out Joyce's reply.

"I don't understand any of it, Hank, except that she looks happy."  Happy surrounded by demons and half-demons and ex-demons and would-be demon hunters, but undeniably happy; Joyce shook her head at the conundrum.  "I guess that's all the understanding this mom can hope for."  She paused for a beat.  "I still want to know more about that tattoo business, though."

* * * * *

Hank settled more comfortably on the sofa cushion Cordelia had graciously fluffed for him. Once she was certain he was on the 'right' side, Angel's assistant had been quite solicitous of his comfort, to the point of making him nervous. 

"Are you sure we can't persuade you to stay just a little longer, sweetie?" he asked Buffy, setting down the glass of juice he had been literally forced to accept. 

His daughter was beaming as she bustled around cleaning up the debris of several days' occupation, but there was no mistaking her firm headshake for assent.   

"Sorry, Dad.  We've been here longer than we expected anyway, and now I just want to get home."  She smiled at Angel, watching him through the training room door as he packed up the weapons Buffy had rushed out to stock up on using Giles' new retailer's discount.  "Mostly, I want to be home when the sun rises tomorrow, and I kind of want to be alone with Angel to see it."  

Alone in the garden, at sunrise; the romantic possibilities were endless.  She glanced back at her father, who was watching her fondly.  

"It's been a long time for him," she explained with a sheepish grin.

"It's all right, Buffy. I really do understand," Hank reassured her.  "We all do."

She was enough of a daughter still to hope that he didn't, but the adult in her kept her from saying so.

"We'll go out once the sun sets, just like we planned," she said instead.  "We can celebrate you being okay, and Giles' new shop, and then the LA contingent will head home."  She cocked an eyebrow at her father.  "Unless you're not ready to leave."

Hank laughed, sensing where her mind was heading.  "No, honey; I'm not staying either.  Not if you're not.  Your mom and I have been getting along pretty well, all things considered, but..."

"But you can only consider for so long," she finished for him.  "And then someone has to do something."

He nodded somberly.  "And that something would be going home.  My life is in LA, where you are, and my job, and my home."  A smile brightened his solemn face.  "And maybe, when I'm ready, there's somebody out there who will look at me the way you look at Angel."

She impulsively gave her father a quick hug.  "I hope so, Dad."

"Me too."  Hank felt a faint, unexpected heat creep across his cheeks as he continued thinking out loud.  "To be honest, before I met...her...I was seeing someone.  Well, sort of seeing."  He laughed self-consciously, feeling the blush settle over more of his face.  "We had a few dinners, and some nice talks."

Buffy quickly abandoned her packing and sat on the arm of the sofa next to her father.  "Okay, spill.  I want details."  She held up her hand before he could speak. "Not, you know, real personal 'when she does this there, it makes me feel all tingly' sort of details that would send any self-respecting daughter howling for her therapist.  Just the basic stats:  name, place of employment, record of convictions, blood pressure."  She shrugged.  "The usual."

"Well I think you would know better than I do, actually," Hank admitted.  "You introduced me to her.  Or Angel did.  She is his friend, after all."

It took a moment for Buffy's happiness-intoxicated brain to make the connection. 

"Kate?" she whispered.  "You're dating...you were dating Kate?  Lockley?"

Cordelia caught the strangled question, and Hank's pleased nod of assent, as she walked by on her way to the kitchen.  The humor of the situation was not lost on her.  Buffy's dad was dating Angel's wannabe-ex, or ex-wannabee, who was also, in Cordelia's opinion, the Ghost Of Buffy Yet to Be.  She made a token effort to hold back her snort of laughter, but the look of mingled horror and embarrassment on Buffy's face sent her over the edge.

"Gee, Buffy, I bet your new little brothers and sisters are going to be the spitting image of you."  She finally controlled her laughter, with no small difficulty, and turned a blandly smiling face to Hank.  "I think it's great you're dating Kate.  She and Buffy have a very special relationship; they just have so much in common it's almost spooky."

Buffy grimaced at Cordelia, but a few deep breaths, and the puzzled look on her father's face, brought out her better nature.  She had, after all, introduced Kate to Hank, or at least been responsible for them meeting.  She had encouraged the police officer to spend time with her father, in the hopes that Kate's good opinion of Angel would rub off.  If the end result of that time spent was a mutual affection...well, it was beyond wigworthy, but she would have to deal.

She only hoped her soon-to-hired therapist would find it amusing to learn that Buffy's father was dating a woman not only 15 years younger than he, but a future vision of his own daughter.

"Cordelia's right, Dad," she heard herself saying.  "I think it's great too."

And Jerry Springer's audience is going to love it, she continued silently as she gave her father a final hug.

* * * * *

Buffy had very specific plans for the spring evening that heralded the beginning of her new life with Angel, and the majority of them she intended to put into action in her own home in LA.  Somehow, though, the quick party to celebrate Giles' new business venture and Hank's new lease on life turned into an informal engagement party, and that created a few problems in the speedy exit department.  

She wasn't sure who suggested The Bronze as the appropriate location for the celebration; it certainly wasn't she.  But Angel seemed taken with the idea, perhaps because it was a place of mostly happy memories for them.  He wanted so badly to make this night special for her, and Buffy knew it would take her a while to convince him that the romance of his proposal had been in no way spoiled by the setting, or their audience.  And as soon as she ditched that ever-present audience, she intended to let the convincing commence.

In the meantime, however, she resigned herself to an impromptu party, and resolved to enjoy it.  Even if it required showing her parents a facet of her life previously unrevealed:  the infamous teenage hangout.

* * * * *

Xander groaned as he stretched his legs out and propped them up on what passed for a coffee table.  A chorus of protests followed his movements, as his large feet endangered the safety of several half-full plastic cups.

"Okay, okay," he said, carefully removing his offending appendages.  "Jeeze, I was just getting comfy."  He nodded to the dance floor.  "From the looks of your mom and Giles out there, we're going to be here awhile."

Buffy smiled at the sight of her staid mother and reserved Watcher dancing midst throngs of hormonal teenagers.  Despite the periodic, and inevitable, collisions with other couples, they seemed to be doing a credible job of keeping up with the music.  It reminded for an instant of the night Giles and her mother had eaten the enchanted band candy and reverted to more "youthful" behavior.

She winced; so not a stop on the Memory Lane Railway she wanted to make.

"Yeah, they seem to be having a good time," she cautiously agreed.  "I guess.  I hope my dad doesn't feel left out, though."  She turned her head, glancing around the crowded club.  "Where is he, anyway?"

"I wouldn't worry about him, Buffy."  Angel looked quietly amused as he rested a gentle hand on her arm.  "He seems to be having a good time talking to the bartender."

Xander craned his neck to see over the crowd, and let loose an appreciative whistle.  "Hey, she's quite a looker, isn't she?  Why exactly did we stop hanging out here again?"

"The old bartender," Willow said dryly.  "Bob the Beast."

"Not a literal beast, you understand," Anya hastened to assure Doyle.  "He was quite offensive, however."  She wrinkled her nose.  "He actually demanded proof of my age when I asked for a drink.  As though I would lie about my age to make myself seem older."

"Well, I don't think Dad is interested in the new bartender any more than he'd be interested in Bob," Buffy said.  "Okay, maybe a little bit more," she allowed after a moment, "but not much.  He has other fish to fry."

Willow sat up straight in her chair, casting an anxious glance at Oz as she asked, "Do we know the name and/or species this time?"

"Easy, Will.  No horned honeys for my Dad this time," Buffy quickly assured her.  "He, umm, he's interested in Kate."  She glanced at Angel as she repeated, "Kate Lockley."

"You're joking."  Mischief sparkled in Doyle's blue eyes as he, too, looked at Angel.  "And does the lady share his interest?"

Buffy shrugged, taking a sip of her drink before she answered.  "Who knows?  He told me they went to dinner a few times, and he seemed to feel it was going somewhere before...well, before Dru."

"Kate and Hank?" Angel asked weakly.  "It's kind of hard to picture, but...you know, as long as they're happy, I guess...are you sure he said Kate?"

Xander laughed at the confusion on Angel's face.  "This makes quite a kink in the family tree, doesn't it, fella?"

Cordelia snorted and shook her head.  "Let me count the ways."

"Just think of it," Xander mused with great relish.  "Old Hank is working his way through Angel's Little Black Book.  And without an immortality net, I remind you."  He raised his glass of soda high in the air.  "Two thumbs up to the little guy from LA with big dreams!"

"Good thing Darla is dead," Buffy muttered under her breath as Angel started to scowl.

"Kate and I were never anything but friends," the vampire said stiffly.  "And as for Dru...she was a lot of things to me, but nothing like you're thinking."

Now it was Buffy's turn to look confused.  "Angel, sweetie," she began slowly, "every couple has to deal with past relationships, and when one of the couple has been around for two plus centuries...well, that's a lot of past.  And I'm okay with that," she continued, resting her hand over Angel's on her arm.  "I really am.  So you don't need to make up pretty stories to save my feelings.  I, uh, kind of knew you weren't a virgin when we met."

"Buffy, I'm not lying, or trying to spare your feelings."  He shifted on the sofa so that he faced her, taking both of her hands in his own as he looked into her eyes.  "Dru and I were never lovers.  Ever."  

It wasn't so much the incredulity on Buffy's face that prompted him to explain further; it was the derisive hoot that burst from Xander's mouth as Cordelia triumphantly exclaimed, "Told you so.  Pay up!"

"I've spent all this time telling you guys how I felt like she was my child, and you think I'd sleep with her?  I know my demon is vicious and sadistic, but that...that's just plain sick."  He swiveled his head to address his next question to Cordelia.  "And while I'm flattered that you believe me, Cordy, I'd like to know why you were so sure already."

"She's a brunette."  Cordelia shrugged her slim shoulders as though the answer was beyond obvious.  "You showed zero interest in me when we met, which was before you and Buffy got all star-crossed lovery, so it was obvious you have a blonde fixation."

Angel nodded slowly, respecting the consistency of her thought processes, if not their validity.  

"As a matter of fact I don't, but I'm glad at least you believe me."  He glanced at the others.  "Apparently to the point of staking money on it."

"It was a long time ago.  I'd actually forgotten about it until Xander brought this whole thing up."  She pointedly looked from Xander to Willow to Oz.  "And now some people owe me five bucks for my amazing insight into your character."

Buffy had at last recovered her power of speech.  "Why didn't you ever tell me she wasn't an ex?"  She clenched her hands into fists within the confines of his grasp.  "Did you think it didn't matter to me, or did it slip your mind like it did Cordelia's?"

"Buffy, I'm sorry," he said swiftly, focusing all his attention on his beloved.  "After all that I'd done to Dru, the list of what I didn't do seemed sort of insignificant."

"This doesn't make any sense, Angel," Buffy protested.  "You guys were together for decades.  You mean to tell me you never even tried?  And what about Spike?  He must have known, so why was always so jealous of your relationship?"  She shook her head stubbornly.  "It just doesn't wash."

No matter how much she wanted it to.

"Spike believed what we wanted him to believe," Angel answered patiently.  "It was a way to pass the time, and I admit it was kind of fun keeping him off balance."  He grinned at the memories; they was just about the only part of being evil he didn't regret.  Much.  "All right, it was a lot of fun." 

"Angel..."

"So we talked a good game in front of him," he continued, returning his attention to the present, and his beloved by his side.  "You know how easy it is to get into that type of wordplay that's almost foreplay."

Buffy blushed, staring intently at Angel's hands resting over her own.  "This isn't about our past," she muttered, "just yours."

"Did you ever see me kiss her?" he probed.  "Even after I lost my soul, I mean.  No, of course you didn't...because I didn't.  And if you asked Spike if he ever saw us having sex instead of just talking about it...well, he'd probably tell you he did, but he'd be lying just to hurt you."

She wanted so badly to believe him.  After all the times he had shielded Dru, and all the agony he had suffered over her eventual fate, Buffy needed to believe that it was Angel's innate decency, and his massive guilt complex, that drove him to such lengths.  After all, he had killed Darla to save Buffy; why would one ex rate the stake and not the other?  But wanting didn't always make things so, and she was almost afraid to hope.

"So it was all just some big game, and you never thought to let me in on the rules?" 

She had learned the Slayer game plan early: when in doubt, go on the offensive.

Angel grimaced, both at her tone, and at his timing; this was not exactly a conversation he wanted to be having in a crowded club surrounded by their nearest and dearest.

"I didn't sleep with her," he reiterated.  "Before I turned her the thought occurred to me; I admit that.  But as I was breaking her down, I decided to make her into my 'child,' and that changed everything.  Like I said, even my demon isn't that twisted."

"I just can't believe you never told me.  Is there anything else you didn't think was important that you'd like to share with the class?"

He lifted one hand to stroke her cheek.  "That's what this whole marriage idea is about.  Sharing all the little details, learning new things about each other every day."

She fought against the pull of his sweet words; she had a right to her anger, even if that anger was swimming upstream against her overwhelming feeling of 'Yay!'

"Angel, this wasn't a little detail."

"If you look at the big picture, I think it was."  His palm stilled on her cheek, infusing her face with his coolness.  "You said it yourself; I have a long past.  And most of it was spent without you, because even your grandparents weren't blips on the radar yet during my wilder days."  Angel's thumb slipped to the side and gently brushed across her lips.  "But my future belongs to you.  And I wouldn't have it any other way."

Buffy gazed deep into his eyes, searching for, and finding, the same unstinting honesty he always gave to her.  In the past he might have evaded some issues, and shielded her from certain things, but he had never lied about his feelings for her.  And she knew that when all else failed her, she could rely on that honesty.

"Me too," she relented, leaning into his caress as one more ghost slipped away into the mist.

"Uh oh, we have a PDA Alert," Xander moaned.  "Someone break the mood quick."  

Buffy smiled as she stood up, still holding Angel's other hand.  "Why don't we just move the mood to the dance floor?  I think I hear a slow song starting."

"Mmm, dancing with music.  Sounds very exotic."  Angel grinned back at her, allowing himself to be led out into the crowd.  As soon as they reached the dance floor, however, he took charge, pulling Buffy firmly into his embrace as he guided them through the throng of people.

Cordelia watched them with an unexpectedly fond smile.  "That's what I want someday," she murmured, scarcely aware she was speaking out loud.

"Don't worry, darlin'.  A few more things to work out, and that could be us."  Doyle slid his arm around Cordelia and gently squeezed her shoulder.  "Give or take some height and hair color."

She glanced at his merry face, her own mood suddenly serious.  "You will talk to him, won't you?  Soon?"

Doyle shifted uncomfortably in his chair.  "I know I should have said something before," he began uncomfortably, "but the time wasn't right."

"And the excuse for today would be?" she asked archly.  "He's okay now.  And you'll be okay too, once you tell him."

"It's been sort of nice the past few days, not having to think about it," he admitted.  "Made me feel like my old self."

"Well, time for the new and improved self," she said, the briskness of her tone not matching her tender gaze.  "I'm tired of lying to him, to both of them."  She flashed an impudent grin.  "Makes me feel like my dad."

"Oh not that.  Anything but that," Xander groaned.  "No more father issues, please.  Been there, angsted that."  He rubbed his hands together as he leaned in for the kill.  "Now as far as this great big 'thing' you have to tell him, Doyle; why not try it out on the rest of us."  He looked to the others for support.  "We're bored enough to listen, aren't we guys?"

Doyle shook his head, smiling at Xander's blatant attempt to pry.  "Sorry, mate.  This is between me and Angel."

* * * * *

On the dance floor, held fast in Angel's embrace, Buffy felt worlds away from any problems, big or small.  When they had first arrived at The Bronze, she couldn't wait to leave.  But here, now, she couldn't imagine anything more peaceful or relaxing than drifting around a worn tile floor in the middle of a crowd of strangers, lost in her lover's arms.

It wasn't until her parents and Giles interrupted them to say goodnight that she realized how late it had become, and how desperate the need to get on the road was.  Sunrise was only a few short hours away, and she and Angel were almost as many hours away from their new home.  This was not an acceptable state of affairs.

After two-and-a-half centuries of darkness, Buffy was not about to let Angel's first glimpse of the sun be from the freeway off-ramp. 

* * * * *

To Be Continued 


	14. Epilogue

**Anam Cara**

**Epilogue**

By Gem 

The drive back to LA was endless.  

It had seemed like a good idea at the time they arranged things: two cars, twice the room for Buffy's things and only one trip required. Now though, as he mechanically drove his overstuffed convertible for two long lonely hours, Angel wished they had taken just one car and driven however many trips it would take, if only it meant they could be together.

He scolded himself for his clinginess; he was a grown man, and then some.  He had survived for centuries before he met Buffy, and he had managed for months alone in LA while they were estranged...but that was what it had been.  Survival.  Managing.  When he was with her, it was life, and he begrudged the loss of even a few hours of it.

He tried to keep an eye on Buffy's little Bug while they were on the highway, but she darted in and out of traffic like a firefly on a summer night.  He worried about her safety, but he knew she was anxious to get home as he was.

Home.  Their home.  God, he loved the sound of that.  

The miles of highway inevitably melted away, and they began to wend their way through darkened city streets, until they reached a quiet corner on the outskirts of the city proper.

The pale adobe bricks of their new house rose cool and aloof among the surrounding trees, dimly outlined with the aid of small lights scattered along the long curving driveway.  Angel parked next to Buffy and slowly climbed out of his car, his eyes fixed on her face.  He wanted to catch that first reaction as she took in their new home, knowing it was their home.  It had all seemed so different before, when it was just a plan for the future.  Now it was the present, now it was reality, and he was going to treasure every moment of it.

"It's wonderful," she said breathlessly, turning to smile at him.  "It's really real this time, isn't it?  Forever?"  She held out her hand, but he wrapped his arms around her instead, resting his cheek on the top of her head as she burrowed into his chest.

"Forever," he agreed fervently, resolutely closing his mind to his old definition of the word.  There would be no more shadows between them, and no more separations.  They would be together on this earthly plane for as long as they were allowed, and if her time came before his, he would follow her wherever she went.  

"Let's go in.  We're wasting all this fantastic alone time on the front lawn."  The smile she turned on him was as playful as a child's, but he could see the intent of the woman underneath.

Without warning, he leaned over and swept her up into his arms.  "I know it's not official yet, but I want to carry you over the threshold."

"You are such the romantic," she gloated, settling into his embrace.  

His romantic gesture was somewhat tarnished by the modern day inconveniences of deadbolts and burglar alarms, but together they managed to combat technology without losing hold of one another.  Angel gently set Buffy down on the stone floor in their foyer, and turned to close the heavy wooden door.  A moment later he felt two warm arms slide around his waist as she molded herself to his back.  

"Never, ever, ever going to move," she murmured into his spine.  "I finally have everything I want right here."

"I agree with the part about having everything we could want," he said softly, "but if we're never ever going to move from the hallway, can I at least be facing you?  It might work better."  When her arms obligingly loosened just enough to allow him to turn and face her, he continued, "You know we can probably do better than the hallway for comfort too.   The furniture has been delivered, and I made up the bed before I left for Sunnydale.  I had a feeling we weren't going to be spending a lot of time housekeeping the first few weeks."

"Try the first few decades."  She stood on tiptoe to brush his lips with a kiss.  "I have much better ways to show how much I adore you than rearranging the furniture."

He was in the process of obtaining a more detailed explanation of her housekeeping alternatives when they heard a knock on the door.

"No, no, no," she groaned, pressing her face into his shoulder.  "It's our first night; I don't want to play the good little hostess."  She raised her head to grin mischievously at him.  "Unless you're playing the sexy mysterious stranger seeking shelter from the storm and I..."

"We have to answer the door," he said hastily, extricating himself from her embrace before it was too late.  He risked a quick brush of his knuckles across her cheek to tease away her pout.  "I'll get rid of them, sweetheart.  Whoever it is, I will get rid of them right away."  
  


Buffy could tell he was sincere, and she trusted his word absolutely, at least until she saw that their guests were Doyle and Cordelia.  There were some people her beloved simply could not turn away, and right now the top two (after herself, of course) were standing on her doorstep.

"Out, get out!" she commanded futilely, pointing at the door.  "We just got home and we have things to do."

"Anything we can help with?" Doyle asked hopefully.  He winced when Cordelia smacked him on the arm and Buffy glared.

"I think we can handle this on our own," the Slayer snapped.

"Why don't we let Doyle and Cordy tell us why they're here, quickly," Angel stressed, "and then they can leave.  I mean go home.  I mean...I don't mean to sound unfriendly but..."

"But we just got home," Buffy reiterated, crossing her arms over her chest and tapping her foot.  "So state the nature of your demonic emergency in twenty-five words or less, and then make with the feet moving backwards towards the door."

"And to think you weren't voted Miss Congeniality at the prom.  Go figure."  Cordelia would have said more, but she sensed Buffy was just a trifle tense.  

"Hey, I have an even better idea," Angel said hastily.  "Why don't you save whatever this is for Monday at the office?  It's not life or death, is it?"

"No, it's not life or death," Doyle answered slowly, "but it's kind of about why it can't wait until Monday at the office.  I, uh, won't be there."

"You came over at four a.m. to tell us you won't be at work two days from now?  You mean Cordelia hasn't introduced the concept of a telephone to you?"  Buffy had gone from annoyed to outraged with her usual Slayer speed.

"It's more about why I won't be there."  Doyle looked everywhere but at Angel.  He couldn't bear to see the concern he knew would be in those dark eyes.

"Why don't we all sit down and you can explain," Angel suggested, gently guiding Buffy toward the living room and motioning the others to follow.  When they were all seated, he nodded at Doyle to continue.

"I won't be there Monday, or any day after that actually, unless it's just to say hey," Doyle said awkwardly.

"You're quitting?"  Angel couldn't mask the shock in his voice.

Doyle met his eyes at last.  "It's time, Angel.  You know it as well as I do; you don't need me anymore.  I was sent to you for a reason, and now that reason no longer applies."

"I don't understand."  Buffy glanced quickly at Angel's frozen face before she confronted Doyle.  "You're leaving because of me?  Because you feel like you don't have a place at the office anymore because I'm here?  That is so not true, Doyle."

"I'm not being a sore loser; truly I'm not.  This is the way it was meant to be," Doyle protested.  "The Powers sent me to help Angel get back on the path; he stumbled just a bit when you two broke up.  Now he's on his way, and you're back together, so I've done what I came to do.  It's time for me to move on."

"You knew about this."  Angel directed his bewildered gaze at Cordelia.  "Why didn't you tell me?"

Cordelia blushed and shrugged her shoulders.  "It was Doyle's secret, not mine, and he didn't even tell me the whole story until this week.  I just knew he's been all weird and up with the power-brooding since he got back from Santa Marisa."

"That's what started it," Doyle agreed.  "I realized a lot about myself when I was leading those Scourge away from here, and most of it wasn't too comfortable."  He stood up and began to pace.  "I got off easy when it comes to the demon half of myself.  It didn't manifest until I was a grown man, and I can control it most of the time, so I never had to deal with the kind of fear and discrimination most demons do.  The Scourge never would have come looking for me if I didn't come looking for them first."

"But that's part of what we're about," Angel protested.  "We fight the darkness, and things that thrive in it, like fear and prejudice.  Why are you walking away from all that?"

"I'm not; I just have my own way to fight.  You and Buffy, you fight with your fists, and that works for you.  I'm a teacher, Angel, even though I made myself forget that for a time.  I'm not meant to fight evil full-blown and full-grown; I'm supposed to stop it from forming."

"What are you talking about?"  Buffy didn't mean to snap at him, but the pain on Angel's face was tearing her apart.

Doyle ran a hand through his dark hair, trying to find the words to explain his revelation.

"When I first found out I was half-demon, I thought 'that's it; I'm evil.'  Demons are evil; everyone knows that.  But I'm not evil; never was, unless you talk to Sister Augustine, my first grade teacher."  He grinned reminiscently.  "Now she might tell you a different story, but I say I'm just a regular fella, because that's what I was taught to be.  I think there are a lot of other demons out there who might be the same, if you give them half a chance.  Teach them when they're young to be good joes and there might be a few less demons you two will have to kill."  

He threw himself back down on the sofa next to Cordelia and waited for a rebuttal.

"Doyle, I understand what you're saying about you," Buffy began, "and obviously we know that not all demons are evil, but aren't there, umm, types of evil demons?  I mean, Giles has all these books that talk about demons, and some of them are listed as evil and some they say are nice.  Well, they never actually use the word 'nice.'  More like 'not-so-evil,' but still..."

"Buffy, try to think of them as pitbulls," Cordelia said kindly. 

"Hey!" Doyle and Angel yelped at the same time.

"I just mean that they have this really bad rep, but they can be perfectly nice, if you train them to be," she explained with exaggerated patience.  "I think Doyle is trying to say demons are the same way.  The ones with souls, anyway."

Angel recognized the look of determination on Doyle's face; the decision was made and all that was left were the details.  "So you're going to teach them what exactly?"

"Reading, writing, math; just what I'm certified to teach, or maybe a bit more.  I can only teach the little ones, at least at first, but once they learn the basics they can teach themselves whatever they want.  The important thing is to get them together, thinking like a community." He leaned forward, arms waving as he painted the future in the air.  "Demons fight among themselves a lot because they think of themselves as separate.  If they learn together as children, maybe they can work together as adults.  And if they don't feel like they have to fight to survive, maybe they won't be so rough on the human beings that cross their paths either."

"That's really great, Doyle.  I mean it."  Angel smiled wistfully as he held out his hand to his friend.  "I only wish we could offer you a little student of our own some day, but that's..."

"Not going to happen, for a lot of reasons," Buffy finished firmly.  She wound her arms around Angel's and leaned her head on his shoulder, trying to let her resolve flow through to him.  They already had so much more than most; why quibble about the few things they could not have?

Angel focused on the untroubled light shining steadily from his beloved's eyes.  There was a deep sense of peace there, for perhaps the first time since he had met her.  As much as he wanted to give Buffy the world, including the children he never could, maybe it was enough to give her the love in his heart.  And if letting go of old dreams was the price for that glow in her eyes, it was one he would gladly pay.

If only he could be sure Doyle's reward would be as great.

"Doyle, I'm not trying to argue you out of this or anything, but how can you be so sure this is the right thing for you, or that now is the time?  What about the visions?"

The Irishman shrugged, leaning back in his seat.  "What about them?"

"Aren't they why you were sent to me in the first place?" Angel persisted.  "What happens to them now?"

"Angel, I haven't had a vision since the Scourge," Doyle said gently.  "After we took care of them, Buffy decided to move here and I think the Powers decided my work was done.  You get enough business though word of mouth these days, and trouble has a way of looking you up.  I wouldn't worry about the books."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know, I know.  I just mean it's another sign that you don't need me anymore, and it's time for me to go."  He offered a crooked smile.  "Even Obi Wan had to leave Luke at some point."

"Umm, Doyle, bad example," Buffy pointed out with a wince.  "He kind of went out on the wrong end of a lightsaber."

"And what about you?"  Angel switched his focus to Cordelia.  "Are you planning on seeking greener-skinned pastures too?"

She looked surprised by the question.  "Me?  Teach at the Little Portal on the Prairie?  Not on the likely."

Buffy grinned.  "What would she teach them anyway?  Make-up tips?"  

"Well better me than you, Miss I-Wear-Red-Lipstick-With-Pink-Leather-Pants," Cordelia sniffed.  "As though the pink leather pants weren't bad enough."

"Hey, those pants were..."

"Cordelia's job is her choice," Doyle interjected hastily.  "This is something I need to do for me."

"Are you okay for finances?" Angel asked hesitantly.  "I mean, where is this school going to be?  Do you need help with the rent?"

Doyle chuckled as he shook his head.  One minute Angel was trying to save him from himself, and the next he was offering to finance the venture.  He had to admire the man's loyalty.

"I already have a place fixed up in West Hollywood.  David Nabbitt came through with the cash; I think he must figure it's insurance against other people getting into trouble with demons like he did.  I'll be okay."

"Though, you know, if you still want to do that little credit card deal for a bookstore," Cordelia added hastily, "we won't complain. And you know I'm worth it."  She smiled with a complete, and strangely endearing, lack of humility.

"It won't be the same around the office without you," Angel said wistfully.  

"Or the sewers," Buffy added, trying to lighten the mood.  "Who else is going to help Cordy over the puddles?"

"I'll buy her some hip boots for her birthday," Doyle promised, crossing his heart as he winked at her.  "It's not like you'll never see me, you know; we're still pals.  I may even still bring you some business.  But I need to strike out on my own now and so do you Angel.  You have a whole new life starting with Buffy, and it's just what you've always wanted.  You need to concentrate on that, and not worry about a half-demon Irishman who wandered your way."

"You did a whole lot more than that Doyle, and you know it."  Angel smiled ruefully at the memories.  "You saved me.  I was sinking fast when I came to LA, but you made me look outside my own pain and that was a lifeline."

"And now it's time for him to start throwing them at other people.  I mean demons.  Well, people-like demons.  Is that an offensive term?"  Cordelia turned to Doyle in confusion.

Doyle grinned at her as he pulled her to her feet.  "Why don't we discuss it on the way home, darlin'.  I think these two need some time alone, and so do we."

"Oh right."  Cordelia nodded sagely.  "We have wallpaper for the classroom to pick out."  Over Doyle's shoulder, she winked at Buffy as Doyle groaned.

"What have I done?" the Irishman moaned as he led Cordelia from the house.

"Get used to that phrase!" Buffy called after him as she shut the door behind them.  Turning to Angel, the smile fell from her face.  "How are you holding up?"

Angel took a moment to consider the question, knowing she deserved the complete truth.  "I think that I think he's right," he said slowly.  "And I know I envy his certainty that he is."  He grinned and shook his head.  "I'm going to miss him, though."

"He was your first friend in a long time," she said as she crossed over to him.  Sliding into his waiting arms, she rested her chin on his chest and stared up into his dark eyes.  "He won't be the last, though; you have to know that.  I bet there's a whole bunch of people out there willing to be friends with a great guy like you, if you'll just let them in."

"How about I settle on a few of unusual quality," he compromised.  "You being the first and most important, of course."

"Of course," she agreed solemnly, sealing the pact with a kiss.

"And so, my first and finest friend, what do we do now?"  Angel's left hand snaked out and turned the brass lock on the old door with a definitive snap.  "We have the house to ourselves; no guests, no work, no family crises." His lips met hers once more as he murmured against them, "How ever shall we pass the time?"  

Buffy returned his kiss with considerable enthusiasm before she answered, "Wedding plans!"

Angel groaned, slave to an instinct even older than he.  "Isn't that what you're supposed to be talking to Willow and Cordelia about?" he asked desperately.  "Or your mother maybe.  It sounds much more like a mother-daughter sort of thing."

She tilted her head, staring quizzically at him.  "Honey, you're not going to start turning all eighteenth century guy on me now that we're using the 'M' word, are you?  Because it's kind of cute in small doses, like when you pull out a chair for me, or kill a bug or something.  But I'm not exactly an old-fashioned girl."  

To prove her point, her hands began a southerly journey along his back destined for regions the "nice" girls of his youth didn't even dare name.

"Point taken," he said with some difficulty, surrendering to the inevitable in more ways than one.  "But do we have to talk about it now?"

She grinned at the husky tone in his voice.  "Relax, big guy; I know we have better things to do this morning.  I just wanted to make sure we're on the same page of our wedding album first. How does Tahoe at Christmas sound?"  

She rested her cheek against his shoulder and began to sway slightly, almost as though they were dancing.  Angel groaned again, this time more in anticipation than dread, but he retained enough command of himself to consider her suggestion.

"You want snow, don't you?"

"Oh yeah," she sighed.  "That was wonderful day.  Miracles on the hellmouth; go figure."  She stopped swaying and looked up at him very seriously.  "That's when I knew that there would be a way out for us.  It didn't come as quickly, or as easily as I wanted...but I knew it was meant to be."

That day lived clearly in Angel's memory too; a day began in raw despair that somehow ended in a gentle semblance of peace.  He could still see the anguish in Buffy's hazel eyes as she fought for his life, until the falling flakes washed their world clean, leaving wonder in its wake.  He remembered brushing the cold crystals from her hair, her face, her lips; savoring each chance to touch his dream made flesh, because he knew this fantasy could not survive the inevitable daylight.

He could only thank the Powers that such fleeting moments were enough to sustain her faith, at a time when he had so little else to offer.

"I didn't know; I just hoped," he confessed with a soft laugh.  "Or at least what I called hoping at the time.  I, uh, wasn't very good at it back then."

She pressed a tender kiss to his cool mouth, exulting in the curve of his increasingly frequent smile beneath her lips.  "You've improved like a thousand percent about that; trust me.  So Tahoe is okay?  With the gang in tow, of course."

"Yes to both," he promised swiftly.  "I will marry you wherever and whenever you choose.  On the top of a mountain at dawn, or a cathedral at high noon, or...or in the middle of Super Bowl Sunday, if you that's what you want."  

"Super Bowl, huh? Greater love hath no man," she commented dryly.  "Though you're not much of a football fan, so maybe you're just hoping for a small turnout."

"Okay, since you doubt me, how about:  I would marry you in the middle of the game in the middle of the stadium itself..."

"Ouch.  Even Slayers dent, you know."

Angel took a playful nip at her lower lip. "I don't care about the where, Buffy, or the how, just that it happens."  He smoothed his hands down her sides, pulling her flush against his body.  "For right now, though, I was thinking of a more, umm, tangible expression of the...one-ness...that we want our marriage to mean," he continued, flashing her an impudent grin.

"Right now I want to go into the garden," she said hastily, abandoning her teasing for more important considerations.  "The sun is going to be up soon, and I want to see you when you see it."  Among other things, she continued to herself.

It wasn't quite the way Angel wanted to greet the new day, but he quickly realized there would be compensations.

"I warn you; it's going to be a dull show.  Because all I want to do is watch the way the light shines on your face."  Angel lightly stroked her cheek.  "It's been a long time since I've seen that.  Too long."

Buffy clasped her hand over his and clung tightly to him.  "Come on," she whispered.

Together they strolled down the cool stone hallway to the French doors that opened into the courtyard.  The garden was still in darkness; the first streaks of dawn were just beginning to appear on the slate grey sky.  Buffy led Angel over to a wrought iron bench, and gently pushed him down on it, sliding onto his lap once he was settled.

Angel wrapped his arms around Buffy's waist and held her close, watching the growing light gradually reveal her face to his loving eyes.

"I've waited so long for this," he murmured, marveling at the rosy glow creeping across her features.

Buffy nodded somberly, picturing the endless days spent in darkened rooms, while life moved past his shuttered windows.  While he was a "practicing" vampire, it wouldn't have been so bad, but to the souled Angel, it must have been torture.

"I'll bet you have," she whispered in reply.  "But now you can have all the sunshine you want, whenever you want.  We can go on picnics, or to the beach, or even fight demons that are afraid of the dark.  Whatever gives you a happy."

"You make me happy," he said firmly, running a fond hand down her tanned cheek. "Anyway, it's not the sun I meant.  I've spent so long wanting to be human again, and suddenly, even if I'm really not, I feel more like it than I ever did.  Ever," he emphasized.

She kissed the corner of his mouth.  "Why the 'Helen spells water' moment now after all this time?"

"I think it's because I finally understand what I was really looking for.  I spent so long wanting to be human for you; I wanted a pulse and a heartbeat and grey hairs some day, and wrinkles."  He looked away for an instant.  "I wanted to be the father of your children."  A deep pull of air into his lungs gave him a moment's respite before he looked into her eyes again.  "Those things will never happen, but I'm okay with that.  Mostly.  Because that's not what being a human really means.  That's just being mortal."

"So what's the big revelation, then?"  Buffy ran her fingers through his shock of silky dark hair, wondering what it would look like when the sun's rays began to leave their mark.  Would the highlights be red or gold?  She couldn't wait to see. 

"Do you know the meaning of life now?" As though there was one beyond this hard-won moment.

He lifted a lock of her hair in return, and brushed it across the tip of her nose.  Someday these golden strands clinging to his fingertips would be frosted with silver, and he would be there to see it.  And when the silver turned to white, he would still be there to see it.  Seeing it, reveling in it, and counting such pleasures among his greatest blessings.

"Not hardly...but I think that's the point.  There is no one answer, because it's not about the answers; it's about the questions.  And about getting the wrong answers, but still trying to get the right ones."

"Well we can do that," she said lightly.  "I am so the right woman for getting wrong answers; just ask any of my old teachers."

Angel couldn't help his foolish grin; he loved her casual use of the word 'we.'

"I think the good Father Hanratty would have said almost the same thing about me," he volunteered.   "Actually I think he did.  Repeatedly.  So I guess that means together 'we' should have no problems with this life stuff."

"You just said a mouthful," she agreed with a sharp nod of her head.  "And don't you ever forget it, mister."

"Never again, my love," he promised, slipping his hand beneath the warm hair at the nape of her neck.  "My life." 

She needed little urging to give in to the gentle pressure of his hand guiding her head down to his.  Angel felt the heat of the sun slowly warming his cool flesh, but it was not half so intense as the light of Buffy's smile as her lips met his in their first kiss of this new day, in their new life.  

And pulse or not, Angel was human enough to be glad no one else could see the rest of her plan to greet the dawn.  There were some parts of their life he intended to keep private despite their continual audience, even if he had to dig a moat around the house to regulate the flow of traffic.

He and Buffy had both made a lot of mistakes on the path to this new life, and more than once they had done so at someone else's instigation.  But despite their best efforts to avoid destiny, somehow they had stumbled into their own little happy never-ending.  From this moment on, Angel wasn't planning on letting anyone else, however well intentioned, help them write this fairytale.

So tomorrow the moat.  For today, at least he had remembered to lock the door.

* * * * *

The End 


End file.
